


Kneel Before Your Master

by LMShnook



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Adlock, Angst, Blood, Cannibalism, Case Fic, Drug Use, Eventual Johnlock, F/M, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Murder Mystery, Psychological Torture, Suicide Attempt, Teenlock, Torture, Vampires, Vamplock, but not often, mormor, one-sided sheriarty, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-02-11 08:36:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 12
Words: 25,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2061351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMShnook/pseuds/LMShnook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock Holmes’ life plunged from bad to worse when he was turned into a vampire and abandoned by his creator.  However, his life changes when a young med student by the name of John Watson saves him from a suicide attempt.  </p>
<p>In a perfect world, Sherlock could leave his past behind for a future with John. But a world with vampires, cannibals, and gruesome murders is far from perfect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Man From the Bridge

I step up on to the ledge of Southwark Bridge. The cocaine I took has long worn off, and the pain of hunger for blood begins to rise. It's the worst pain I've ever felt, more painful than when I was bitten, though, to be fair, I can't remember the event all that clearly.

Looking over the edge, and I see the reflection of the moon in the Thames. I always loved looking at the Thames as a child, so calm on the surface yet incredibly deadly once you descend into its black waters. My father used to take me on long walks along the South Bank. We'd walk past the Tate Modern, the Globe Theatre, we even made it as far as the National Theatre once. But that was so long ago...

_What has become of my life?_

_A bite to the heart in the middle of the night, and the next morning finding myself surrounded by dead bodies all drained of their blood, that's what._

My throat burns with thirst just thinking of my first kill. But I won't have to worry about that for long, one quick dive into the water and two years of hell will be erased.

I quickly put the note I'd written explaining who I was, what I thought I was, down on the ledge beside me. I didn't have anyone left to address it to, but it would surely help the conscience of the poor sod who would find my body washed up somewhere along the river.

One more step, and it'll all be over. My foot is inches from being over the edge. So close...

"Oi! Mate!" the voice of a young man standing behind me calls out, "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" I groan.

"It looks like you're about to make a big mistake." he says sternly.

_It's 3 in the morning, what's this guy doing here anyway?_

I turn around to get a better look at him. He looks so...ordinary. Young, no older than his early twenties, surprisingly short, with short blond hair. He was nothing too special to look at, but as I kept staring I could feel my teeth begin to slip out, preparing for a bite. His skin smelt so fresh, his blood so sweet... I was craving him as much as I was craving a hit of cocaine.

_No, stop it! You said you were done with this. No one has to suffer anymore if you just jump. Go!_

"Please, just step down." he begins to walk closer, putting his hand out trying to calm me, "Whatever it is you're going through, you can work it out."

"You take one more step towards me and I swear I will jump." I threaten, inching back to prove myself.

"I can help you through this." he pleads.

"You don't know what I am! What I've done!" I shout, walking closer to the edge. "No one can help me now."

I lean back until gravity takes over, pulling me the rest of the way into the black water.

"Oh my god!" the man runs to the ledge as a last ditch effort to save me, but he is too late.

Already I feel the cold water pierce through my thin sweater and quickly I'm sucked beneath the surface. As I fall deeper, and my limbs loose their feeling. I can see the man standing at the ledge running nervous fingers through his short hair. The cold water grips my lungs, they contract in pain and all the air stored in my body escapes.

The pain blazes through my body. I can't take it, this is what I wanted, but now I'm not so sure. I try to move my limp arms, but suddenly they don't listen. The heavy water holds them back with its icy grip.

_Please God, let me live._

I should have taken his offer, being a vampire can't be worse than the pain I'm feeling now. I could have found a way...

Slowly my vision blurs, and consciousness evades me.

 

*****

 

"I was wondering when you'd get up."

I blink. Bright lights surround me, a familiar face stands above me. I move my arms, they slide across crisp white sheets. I begin to feel it all around me, I'm lying in a bed.

_Whose bed?_

I look up again, it's the man from the bridge.

_Where am I?_

"You're probably wondering where you are." he answers, "This is my flat. This is my bedroom." He points at where I'm lying, "That's my bed."

I sit up silently, the white linen falls away from my chest which is bare apparently. Mind you, now that I think of it, I'm not wearing anything at all. I give my host a questioning glance.

"Your clothes are in the wash." he answers again, he's quite good at jumping to conclusions. "That's how you treat a patient with hypothermia."

"You take off their clothes and seduce them into your bed while they're mostly unconscious?" I hoarsely comment.

"Don't get clever. I slept on the sofa." He stands there for a moment, arms crossed, "I'm John, by the way. John Watson. I'm a med student at St. Bart's so you don't have to worry about..." he trails off trying to find the right words, "...being embarrassed or anything. I work on cadavers, so I've seen a lot worse. And a lot better, actually."

I laugh at his attempt to distance himself from the awkward situation by immediately resorting to sexual innuendoes.

"Your name?" he persists.

I hesitate. Why do I trust him? For all I know he could be some crazy serial killer. But then again, who am I to talk. "Sherlock."

"Sherlock...nice name."

"You're a rubbish liar. It's a terrible name."

"Yeah, you're right. It is bloody awful." he smiles, I laugh again. He moves slightly towards the door, "Kettle's just boiled, extra clothes are in the closet, bathroom's just next to it. You can come out whenever you're ready."

"Thanks," I mumble back, I doubt he heard me. He closes the door behind him, and I get out of the warm bed. I open the closet door, rows of plaid shirts and ugly kitted sweaters stare back at me.

_Does this guy even own a mirror?_

I glance next to me,

_Apparently yes._

It's been a long time since I've looked at myself. Skin paler than ever, hypothermia will do that to you I suppose, dark curls a mess from sleeping. My hands trace over the scar just above my heart; two thin, yet incredibly deep puncture wounds surrounded by scorched skin given to me by my creator. I feel my heartbeat, just slightly faster than it was last I checked. This is probably what John was referring to. He'd likely ask me about it, too.

I settle for a pair of jeans and white T-shirt. Everything is just a few sizes too small. I wish I had my old clothes back, I wish I had my old life back before everything went wrong...

After taking a quick shower and running a comb through my mess of curls, I walk out into the main room. The whole flat appears to be as simple as the bedroom, boring white walls and light wood flooring. The kitchen stands to the left of the front door, and the den to the right. John is standing over the stove preparing tea. He looks back at me, and smiles,

"Sorry about that, I forgot how short I am." He brings me a cup of tea.

I take a sip of the drink, it's very good. Could use sugar though. "It's fine," I answer, "I'm abnormally tall."

"Right. How old did you say you were?"

That's a difficult question. Anatomically I'm eighteen, but I've been eightee for two years so technically I'm twenty. He wouldn't believe that though.

I shrug in reply, "Don't really remember." I look like a tramp anyway, and tramps don't remember things like that.

"Right then." He sits at the kitchen table, I follow. We sit in silence.

He looks at my chest, the spot right above my heart, and I can tell he's tempted to ask about it. He doesn't, though, thank god.

The early morning sun peaks over the windowsill and illuminates the slight highlights in his golden hair. There's nothing particularly striking about him, but I still can't look away. He moves his arm to rub the back of his neck, likely sore from sleeping on the sofa. I look at his arms, incredibly toned for just a med student, there must be more to him than meets the eyes.

Eyes. His eyes are actually quite beautiful. A deep blue, so blue the sky doesn't even compare. The only other person I've seen with such vibrant eyes was my...

_No, don't bring them into this._

"So, Sherlock. Tell me a bit about yourself." he interrupts.

I look down at my tea, struggling to find something to say, "I live on the streets, I used to have a family, but they're all gone now..."

_I'm a blood sucking vampire and could drain you in less than 5 minutes_

"...and I was supposed to die last night."

John clears his throat, "You're welcome."

"I didn't thank you."

"Yes, but you should have."

"Why _did_ you save me?"

"Because I'm a bloody med student and I took the hypocratic oath. It's my job to stop people from dying."

"You're a med _student_ , you haven't taken the hypocratic oath yet."

"Yeah, well I'm practicing. I'm likely to come across a lot of suicidal young men when I go off to..." he stops himself before he tells me too much, "In the future. Being a...a doctor and all."

Suddenly it clicks. My brain is a bit slow from almost dying a few hours before, but I can still deduce, "You're going off to war, aren't you?"

He stops drinking his tea for a moment, I've probably shocked him just a bit. "How the hell did you know that?"

"I didn't know, I _noticed_. You're a medical student and you're likely very busy with work,” I point to a stack of papers in the den, “I can see you have a pile of assignments sitting on the coffee table you've decided to put off, yet you keep yourself incredibly fit. You don't just find the time to work out, you make time. Building up muscle for something then.” I lean back in my chair and relax slightly, “You were up last night at three in the morning, but you were sober so not drinking. You were alone, not with any fellow students, so it wasn't something school related that you were up for. My best guess was that you were walking around in the middle of the night trying to get used to the time difference between here and somewhere in the Middle East." I rattle off.

"Why the Middle East?" he asks matching my speed.

"Because that's where the wars are."

"Well, that...was amazing."

I'm surprised by his positive reaction, "You think so?"

"Of course it was. Extraordinary, quite extraordinary."

I pick up my tea again, "That's not what people normally say."

He does the same, "What do people normally say?"

"Piss off."

He bursts into laughter. I'm not really sure why, that wasn't meant to be a joke. "Well, you're right about everything." he says between giggles.

"Obviously."

More laughter, "I'm going to Afghanistan for training in six months."

He begins to clear the table before I can get him to talk more on the subject.

"You could've been wrong, though." he says from the sink, "I could have been up because I just wasn't tired."

"Oh please," I begin, "you slept like a baby last night, on the sofa no less. You were exasperated."

"Yeah, well diving into the Thames to pull your sorry arse out kind of drained me."

I smile, "Thank you."

He smile back, "You're welcome."

"Now, I have to go to class," he says after a moment of silence, "but you're welcome to stay here. And help yourself to whatever's in the fridge!"

He gathers some textbooks, grabs his black jacket, and is out the door. I, again, am left alone.


	2. Thirst

The tea had managed to quench my thirst for all of 2 minutes, and with John gone there was absolutely _nothing_ distracting me from it. When had been the last time I had gone on a proper hunt anyway? I could usually get by feeding only twice a month, and often injecting a generous quantity of cocaine could tie me over for bit longer. It was nowhere near close to a proper substitute for fresh blood, but being high did help to lessen the pain.

So which was better, killing an innocent person in John's flat, or getting high in John's flat? He would definitely hate me for both of them.

_Why do you even care what John thinks? If you were a proper vampire, you would've killed him by now!_

Of course, how could I forget that. I always hated those moments when I forgot what I was. That, no matter how hard I tried, I could never fit in anywhere. Not with humans, not with other vampires, and certainly not with John.

But still, actually murdering someone in John's flat wouldn't just traumatize him, he'd probably get arrested for it.

I collected my clothes from the laundry closet and made my way out the door. John had managed to find an affordable flat near St. Bart's, that was quite a feat.

_I hope I can find my dealer from here._

*****

"Shezza! 'aven't seen you 'round 'ere in a while." he welcomes me with slurred speech as I walk into the den.

"Billy." I reply. "And don't call me Shezza."

"Fine by me," he shrugs, "Come for another fix?"

He holds a small bag out to me. I reach for it, but he pulls back before I can take it.

"Aren't you forgetting somethin'?" he drawls.

"I don't have the cash right now, but I'll pay you next time." I mutter.

"That's what you said last time. You otta remember, I'm the only person who'll sell you any. You scared the rest of 'em off. They 'aven't said a word to me in months. God know what you did to 'em."

I forgot about that, the times I let my teeth slip out after being hidden for far too long. My old dealers were the only ones who knew about my hidden self, but of course they didn't know for very long.

I dig in the pocket of my jeans, before remembering that John had likely emptied their contents before putting them in the wash.

"I promise I'll pay you, I just don't have the money right now." I plead.

"You know I can't do that, Shezza."

Whether it was because of the desire for blood or being appalled by being called 'Shezza' again, I lost all control. Swift as the wind I pushed him up against the wall, holding him up by his throat.

"Bloody 'ell, Shezza!" he squeals, "Wassa matter with you?"

I quickly let go, and he sinks to the ground. He throws the drugs at me and flees. I guess I'll have to clean up that mess next.

*****

When the afternoon sun becomes too much, I decide to relocate to John's bathroom. I feel like I'll need to vomit soon anyway. Apparently I took a bit too much cocaine this time around, or possibly my body is rejecting it because it's not the right type of substance I'm craving. Either way I regurgitate whatever it was that was in my stomach. I made sure not throw up on John's pristine white tile flooring, though.

A door clicks, opens and shuts, and a voice calls out, "Sherlock! I'm back. I came in for lunch to make sure you're alright."

I flop across the floor in reply.

"Sherlock?" he makes his way to the bathroom, and turns on the light I had deliberately kept off. "Christ! Sherlock, what have you done!"

I open my mouth to speak, but words aren't what spews out.

"I should have known!" he says as he grabs cleaning supplies, "Of course you're a bloody addict! That's probably why you wanted to throw yourself off a bridge, right? Couldn't pay for your habit so you just decided to end it? Only then this little naive git comes along and is nice to you! And look how you repay me! I hope you haven't been stealing from me, too!"

"You don't know shit!" I yell back, offended by what he thinks I am. Mind you, it's better he thinks I'm just another addict than a beast engineered to kill him.

"Oh, so this overdose wasn't another attempt on your life, then?"

"No! I promise, I'm better now."

"Better? This is not what I'd call 'better', Sherlock."

I'm able to pull myself off the floor and sit up straight, I look up at him. His face is mostly a silhouette from the light behind him, but I can make out his eyes, those beautiful eyes...

"You're not going to send me away, are you?" I say in a fearful, hushed voice. I can't stand the thought of being away from him.

He sighs, then pinches the bridge of his nose, "No, that would just be cruel. No, instead I'm going to stay here, in this very flat, with you until you sober up! And then, together we'll flush the rest of your stash."

He bends down and removes my filthy shirt. I restrain from biting his smooth, beckoning neck, just inches from my teeth. His hands are so soft, so gentle. His skin smells like sweet tea and hospital disinfectant. It's an odd combination, but he is irresistible nonetheless.

He stops when he sees my scar again. His fingers brush against it by accident. I wince, the spot is still sore even after two years.

"Sorry," he mutters, and before I can say a word he is up and on his way to the laundry closet.

I stumble out of the bathroom, and make my way over to the sofa.

"No." John grabs my arm and drags me over to his room, "You're sleeping here tonight. After you take a shower, that is. Now go."

*****

When I wake up, however many hours (days?) after, I feel my throat blaze once again. My only real option to make it stop, at this point, is to properly feed.

I put off my personal needs and look for John.

I find him fast asleep on the sofa. I kneel beside him to get a closer look. He's so peaceful, so innocent. Dark circles under his eyes ruin his perfect complexion. He's been up late, probably worrying about me, or about school. I've hurt him, I need to find some way to apologize.

My eyes glance back at the pile of unfinished labs and assignments.

_That could be a start._

I sit and work for hours, but the time flies by. It's all so easy. Mind you, chemistry and biology always came naturally to me, even before-

"Oh, good. You're up, Sherlock." John yawns from the sofa. "What are you doing?"

"I'm apologizing."

"What?"  Fully awake now, he leans over where I'm sitting. "Are those my chem labs?"

I look up at him and try to give him my most innocent gaze. "Yes. Is that alright?"

"Yeah, it's fine. I was meaning to get to those, before...well let's not talk about that. Coffee?"

"Sure. Black, two sugars please."

Within minutes he sets a striped coffee mug next to me. Again, he's made it perfectly.

"I'm surprised a kid like you can do second year chemistry labs." he comments.

"A kid like me?" I question.

"Well, for all I know you left a difficult home at fifteen and never went to school after that."

"I graduated from Eton."

"Excuse me?" he chokes,

"Sorry, just how does a kid who attends the best prep school in England end up on the streets?"

I stifle a laugh, "Extraordinary circumstances."

"Hmm. Care to elaborate?"

"Not really."

"Alright." he takes a sip of his coffee before moving on, "Did you have a nice sleep, what with your..."

I wish he would stop trying to entice me to talk and just ask already. "You're just itching to ask about my scar, aren't you?"

"I won't ask you about anything you don't want to talk about."

"No, it's fine." I sigh. "A few years ago I was...attacked." I confess, omitting the detail that my attacker was a vampire, "And this," I gesture to my chest, "was his calling card...of sorts."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. Is that why you..."

"Why I wanted to take my own life?" I finish for him, "Yes, I suppose it was."

More silence. It's a pity, this morning started out well, comparatively.

"Here," I pass him a stack of papers, "these are the ones I've managed to finish. You'd better leave now or you'll be late for your first class."

"You'll be alright here?" he asks while he grabs his coat. I nod, but he's already gone.

*****

John returns precisely nine hours after he leaves, but this time he's not alone. From my perch on the sofa I can hear the high-pitched laugh of a young girl.

"Thanks for offering to help me with this biology lab. You just did yours so well." she says.

"It's my pleasure, Sarah." he replies, equally as jovial. He leads her into his flat and shows her around."Oh, Sarah, this is Sherlock." he gestures to me.

"Hi, I'm Sarah Sawyer." she offers her hand, which I don't take.

"Hello." I mumble.

"Anyway." John interrupts, "Sherlock, you seem kind of busy here. Sarah, would you mind working in the bedroom instead."

"Oh, sure. Yeah, that works fine."

_Oh, John is smooth._

They stay in his room for what feels like hours "doing homework". Yeah, I'm sure biology is loads of fun, which is why they seem to be laughing so much. If my stomach wasn't completely empty I'm sure I'd vomit.

_You see, you don't belong here. He doesn't want you here. Just leave._

This time I decide to listen to my conscience. I walk to the laundry closet to gather my few possessions, a hoodie and the bit of cash I had in my jean pockets. When I return Sarah is leaving, or trying to at least. John keeps mashing his face against hers, kissing her goodnight I suppose.

"Where are you going?" he asks me once he lets Sarah leave.

"I'm going back home." I grumble, "I've stayed here too long, you've clearly got other guests you want to offer your bed to."

"Very funny, Sherlock. But I can't let you go. You've already had two attempts on your life, I won't allow you a third."

"I don't understand!" I whine, agitated by the mixed signals I've been getting, " _Why_ do you want me to stay?"

"Why?" he sounds equally as confused as I am, "Well, because you're my friend, Sherlock."

I'm taken aback. I've never had a friend, well, ever. Let alone be called someone else's friend. The feeling is so foreign, not bad, just...new.

Silence settles in the room.

 

I'm the one to break it, "Well, if I'm going to be staying here for a while, can I get some stuff from my old flat?"

"Yeah, sure. Let me grab my jacket we can go right now."

A 'flat' isn't really the best way to describe my old residence. It's more like a single, very dirty, room above a sketchy club in a rough part of town. It happens to be a relatively popular spot for other vampires.

"Good." John says incredibly sarcastically, "Nice part of town."

"Well, what did you expect." I retort. I point up to my room, "That's it up there. You wait here, I'll just be a minute." The last thing I want is for John to see my mess of a flat.

I return a few minutes later with a backpack full of clothes and sheet music, and my violin packed tightly in its case. We walk through the dark streets back to his flat.

*****

John gawks over my shoulder, sandwich in hand, as I unpack my bag. "What's that?" he manages to ask.

"It's my violin. I learned when I was in school." I take the instrument out of its case and caress the smooth wood. It's been too long since I've played. "I can play for you if you'd like."

"Sure, that'd be great."

I perch it on my shoulder and search my memory for an appropriate song to play. Bach's Partitia No. 1 would fit the bill.

The music rises slowly as I gather my bearings, straining my mind to remember the long-forgotten tune. John stops making tea and sits on the couch to listen. I close my eyes to focus. I remember the last time I played this song...

It was the summer before my eighteenth birthday, my parents had taken me and my brother Mycroft to a small cabin they had rented by the sea. It was raining and everyone was a bit uptight. My parents were fighting again, and my brother was caught up in university work. Left with nothing to distract myself, I turned to my violin. I began the song, and soon everyone was quiet and listened. I had my eyes closed and didn't even notice, but when I opened them again once the song was finished I was greeted with a round of applause.

That was the last summer we spent together.

I tear my eyes open again and quickly shelve the memory.

"You're very good." John praises. "How old did you say you were when you started?"

I prepare an answer, but I'm stopped by a sudden pain in my chest. I take the violin off my shoulder and set it on the coffee table before keeling over onto the ground. My brow begins to perspire, and the beads of sweat stream into my eyes and obscure my vision.

John quickly gets up and helps me onto the sofa. "Sherlock, are you okay?" his voice is distant and muffled, like he's talking to me through a wall. He looms above me in wisps and shadows. I try to get up, but he holds me down.

"So...dry..." I gasp. I should have known something like this would happen if I held off feeding for so long.

He dashes off to the kitchen, and I black out before he returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm being purposefully vague about Sherlock's past, but prepare for an explanation of how he got turned into a vampire in the next chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! It's very reassuring knowing you're not just writing for yourself.   
> If you'd like, you can check out my tumblr: consulting-crocheter.tumblr.com


	3. Monster

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this chapter was taken from the song Monster by Imagine Dragons (really the entire fic sprouted from that song). It's a great song, I highly recommend it!

I wake up to the smell of hot tea and hospitals.

 _John_.

"No, don't get up." he puts a hand on my chest, his fingers brushing against my scar, and holds me down on the couch. He gingerly sets a cup of tea down beside me. "You really have to stop doing this." he scolds, "Passing out every week. It's getting a bit redundant."

I laugh, and take the tea, earl grey this time. It will have to do for now. I'll go on a hunt later tonight once John is asleep.

"You're running a fever, and you've been muttering about being thirsty for about three days so I made you some tea. I've stayed here and had Sarah bring me any assignments." he continues, "Do you mind if I work on them a bit?"

I nod weakly in reply. My head is aching and my heart is pounding. He could blow up Parliament for all I care.

"We're studying blood samples this week." he explains, but I've already noticed.

I feel my incisors begin to sharpen, muscles flex, ready for a kill.

_Control. Control. Gain control of yourself._

My full strength returns, and before I can stop myself I'm up on my feet. I fight the urge to pounce on him right now and tear his neck open. I recoil and crouch on the floor, trying so desperately to stop my killer instincts.

He looks up from the papers he had been reading and comes to my side. "Sherlock, what's wrong?" he asks, his voice quivering.

"Don't touch me!" I snap. It was meant to be a warning but comes out more like an order.

He instantly backs away, "Alright, just tell me what's going on."

"If I told you," I gasp, "you wouldn't be able to look me in the eyes again."

"Sherlock, please. I want to help you." he tries a second time to pull me off the floor.

"No! Stay exactly where you are!"

"Alright." he retreats calmly, but is still on guard.

It's getting harder and harder to restrain myself. From the minute I met him I never desired to kill him, to taste the way he bled out in my arms, as I did right now.

_You better tell him soon, before you pounce on him like a tiger._

"John, I haven't been entirely straight with you." I confess. 

"What do you mean, Sherlock?" he asks.

"If I told you the truth about me, about what I am, would you promise not to turn your back on me?"

John raises his hands in surrender, "I promise."

"Hand me a sample of blood and I'll tell you everything, from the very beginning."

"Sherlock, those are being lent to me by the university, I can't-" he protests.

"Just do as I ask!" I plead, "Please."

He reluctantly places the glass vial in my outstretched hand. I gulp it down like a shot.

"Okay, you really need to explain yourself now, Sherlock. Who the hell are you?" he demands.

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," I begin, looking up into his deep eyes, "and I am a vampire."

He stumbles back, and quickly seats himself at the kitchen table, "A...vampire." he mutters. That's still a better reception than I expected.

"Yes," I join him and sit across the table. "Mythical creature who skulks the streets at night and feeds on human blood."

"You can't be serious." he laughs, "Vampires don't exist, Sherlock. You're not a vampire, a psychopath maybe, but not a vampire."

"Well then explain this." I bare my teeth to show him my sharp incisors.

"Oh my god." he says, raising his hand to try and touch them. I close my mouth before he gets too close. "So is this why you wanted to stay here? So you could suck my blood while I'm sleeping like a common parasite!"

"I never wanted to hurt you, John! Please, let me explain myself."

“Yeah, you better.” he retorts.

"People portray being a vampire as living some glorious lifestyle," I start, "being exceptionally beautiful, having some sort of charming glint in your eye that can cause people to do whatever you want them to, being able to entice anyone you want into your bedroom, then killing them with graceful precision. But it's nothing like that. Drinking someone's blood is a messy business, and they often struggle which means you get blood everywhere. And the lifestyle, it's all very political. It all depends on which house you're born into. Whoever turns you into a vampire is called your Master, and you're obligated to join their House. The two biggest houses in London are House Moriarty, and House Morstan, and they don't like each other. If you're born into one of these houses, yeah you'll have a great life; you can live in their manors, choose any other vampire in the clan as your mate, or create a mate yourself. But if you're not, like a majority of vampires in London, you have to live in hiding, being careful not to cross either House Moriarty or House Morstan, but more importantly hiding from the ordinary people.”

"And what are you? Morstan, Moriarty, or one of the smaller clans?" he questions, beginning to calm down a bit more.

"I don't know. My Master fled before my transformation was complete."

"How long ago did this all happen?" "

It started three years ago with the death of my parents...."

*****

The radio blasts The Proclaimers as we drive home from my eighteenth birthday party. My mother had insisted on renting out a fancy dining hall in a fancy hotel, even though she knew how much I hated social interaction. The party had gone much later than any of us had expected, and the only other drivers on the road were the taxis and the drunks.

"Come on Sherlock!" my father chides from behind the wheel, "Sing along! I would walk five hundred miles..." he sings.

In the distance I see headlights coming towards us. I want to tell my father, but I'm sure he sees them, too.

Never have I been so wrong.

A drunk driver hits our car head on, killing my mother instantly. When I come to, I pull my brother, Mycroft, out of the debris. He's fine, so I move on to my father. I manage to pry his door open, but I'm too late. Within seconds of pulling him out of the wreck, I see the light disappear from his bright blue eyes.

Sirens blaze around us, a police officer tries to pull me off of my father's dead corpse. Tears stream down my face as I strain to hold on, trying to memorize his face so I never forget. He is still smiling at me with his knowing smile. The smile he will hold for eternity.

After the hospital bills and funeral are paid for, my brother and I barely have enough money to buy a proper meal. Our parents decided to spend their life savings on sending their two boys to the best schools money could buy. Mycroft decides to leave university and find a job to help provide for the two of us. His measly income ties us over for a few weeks, but soon we are broke again. I beg my brother to leave me and fend for himself, but he refuses.

God I wish he hadn't...

My brother was working a late shift when it happened. The boredom of sitting alone in the tiny flat got to be too much, so I decide to go out. There is a small pub just a few blocks away, and I thought I might go grab a drink. It's oddly full tonight, but I'm able to find a seat at the bar.

"Is this seat taken?" the voice of a young woman asks.

I glance up at her. Her black Louboutin pumps suggest she's too posh for a place like this. I can't help but notice how breathtaking she is. The way her long dark hair is done up in a complicated bun, or how her white cocktail dress hugs her body so perfectly, leaving almost nothing of her shape to imagination.

"No," I reply, still taken by her beauty.

"One Bloody Mary and a scotch, please." she orders.

"That's an awful lot of alcohol for one person." I comment, attempting to start a conversation.

"Oh," she laughs, "my husband will be joining me soon."

Of course, I should have guessed. I really should have, she has ring on her finger.

_How did I miss that?_

"I'm Irene Adler." she introduces herself. "Your name?"

"Sherlock Holmes."

She puts out her hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Holmes."

As we shake hands she slides something into my palm. Before I have the chance to see what it is a man I can only assume is her husband walks up to the bar.

He is not as tall as his wife, but still intimidating. He has dark brown, nearly black, eyes perfectly framed by his immaculate eyebrows. His dark hair is slicked back neatly, and his clothing, too, suggests the couple is well off. He wears a black suit, Westwood it looks like, and a navy tie with tiny skulls printed on it.

"Hello dear," he welcomes Irene with a thick Irish accent.

"Darling," she says back, kissing his cheek with her bright red lips, "this is Sherlock Holmes." she gestures towards me.

"Hi, I'm Jim." he greets. "Well, dear we'd better be off." he says to Irene.

"Oh, yes of course. Goodbye Mr. Holmes, I do hope we meet again." She remarks with a wink.

Before I know what has happened they are out of the pub, leaving their drinks behind, oddly enough. I look in my hand. She's placed a hotel room key in my palm.

_What is she getting at?_

I arrive at the hotel late at night. It's a rather run down place, I'm surprised a woman like her can even stand the thought of it.

The room is rather plain; a bed, lamp, and dresser are the only pieces of furniture.

Irene turns around from looking out of the window, "I was wondering what was taking you so long."

I can't find the words to reply. She is still wearing the same white cocktail dress, but somehow she has grown even more beautiful since last I saw her.

She walks closer to me until she's inches from my face.

"Are you sure your husband won't mind?" I question, the feeling of her breathe dancing across my collarbone causing my voice to quiver.

Her graceful fingers curl around my neck, twisting through my curls. She leans in closer, our lips somehow still not touching. "Let's not think about him." she whispers.

I close the gap between us. She is surprised at first, but relaxes. What starts out as a slow kiss soon rages with passion. She may appear to be delicate, but I soon found gentleness is not what she desires.

I yearn to go farther with her, but a sudden jab in my shoulder causes me to pull back. I pull what looks like an empty syringe out of my arm as my muscles begin to go numb. She uses this weakness against me and pushes me onto the bed behind us.

When I look at her again her affectionate smile has turned into a insidious grin. "Now's when the real fun starts, Mr. Holmes."

~~~~~

"I think he's just about ready, dear."

"Good. It's best we get this over with before we get caught."

"Why can't we just do this in the hotel room?"

"You've never turned anyone, Irene. It's bound to be messy and very loud. Even making it seem like he's "having dinner with you", as you so delicately put it, wouldn't be an adequate excuse for how much he's going to scream. Now quickly, take his shirt off."

I'm stirred awake by cold hands lifting my shirt over my head, then setting me back down so I'm lying with my back on the pavement. I try to get up, to get away from these psychopaths, but she keeps me pinned down to the ground.

"Shh." she coos, "Don't spoil it, just stay down."

"Move!" the Irishman orders.

"What are you going to do with me?" I ask frantically.

He looms above me, and smiles. It's not the least bit comforting. I don't have any idea what it would look like to see the devil smile, but I imagine it would look something like this. Pearly white teeth that don't look friendly when he stares at me with his cold dead eyes.

"I'm going to have my fun with you." he says in hushed tones, so soft for such menacing words, "And then I'll burn you. I will burn the _heart_ out of you."


	4. Young Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a shorter chapter this time. Also I've slipped in a bit of a reference to another one of my favourite shows, Supernatural. Enjoy!

"Christ! It sounds like you went through hell." John says once I've finished telling my story.

“My body went into shock after that, but I deduced he was the one who gave me my scar."  I remove my t-shirt to give John a better look at it. He stares, examines the singed skin around each hole.

"Vampire venom burns when it's placed on flesh, hence the charred skin." I explain, "When it's injected into your body it burns up all of your blood and eventually stops your heart. The closer the entrance wound is to your heart the more likely the transformation will be successful. My Master doesn't like to leave room for error, apparently." I ardently wished he hadn't messed up on my transformation.

"So what happened next?" he asks.

"I don't remember all of it, but what I do remember isn't very pretty." I warn.

"I've worked on cadavers, I'll be fine."

"If you insist." I clear my throat and prepare for the worst of it, "When a newborn vampire wakes up they will often gorge themselves on fresh blood. At first it was just one person, a young girl I met in a club. She was running away from home, turning to the streets to look for safety from her abusive father. Only instead she found me. I don't even know how I managed it, but I led her into a dark alley, much like the one where I was transformed. She just thought I was looking for a one-night stand, I suppose..." I trail off, guilt overtaking me, "Anyways, I didn't waste time, I was so thirsty. I laid gentle kisses along her neck, making sure she was relaxed, then I went for a bite. She tried to scream, but I tore her throat open too quickly for her to cry for help. The alley quickly filled with the coppery scent of her blood as it spilled all over the pavement. She wasn't enough though. I went back into the club, I don't remember even wiping her blood off my clothes. Soon I had the blood of many people on my hands, both literally and figuratively, until, at last, my thirst was quenched."

John looks back at me with fearful eyes, "What about your brother?"

_Don't you dare tell him! Tell John what you did to your own **flesh and blood** and he won't trust you ever again! _

"I don't know." I lie, "I didn't go back to the flat to find him. I just...left."

"I still can't believe it." John comments, taking a sip of the tea he made himself.

"What?"

"That I've been living with a dead guy for the last month."

"I'm not actually dead." I confess. He gives me a confused look, so I take his hand and place it over my scar. His hand feels so warm against my bear skin....

"A heartbeat." he says, absolutely astonished. "But you said-"

"I'm still a vampire, just some sort of...mutant I suppose. Somewhere along the way my transformation was interrupted before my Master could inject enough venom to turn me completely. I drink blood like a vampire, but I still breathe and have a heartbeat like a human. It's both a blessing and a curse."

"After my first hunt, I tried to punish myself." I continue, "I was so angry with myself for killing all those innocent people. I didn't hunt for months on end, I lived in the cold streets, deprived myself of any contact with humans, though that was mostly out of fear that I'd kill them. Then, on one particularly cold night, a small group of other vampires found me. I was weak from not feeding and nearly frozen from the cold, so they took me to their nest. They gave me blood and nursed me back to health. They were reluctant to let me stay, still being partly human and all, but they gave me a small mat to sleep on and let me hunt with them. They were some of the few vampires I've met with a conscience. They only killed people the world would never miss; the addicts, the drunks, the criminals of London. But only six months after I met them the nest was ransacked. Two young american men dressed in plaid and leather, one very tall and the other of average height, came in one night armed to the teeth with weapons. They were determined, slicing off the heads of every vampire they could find. I tried to hide, but the shorter man found me. He held me to the wall of the den and pressed a sliver blade to my throat. Only then he felt my heartbeat. He laughed at me, saying I wasn't even a real vampire. I begged him to kill me, to end this hell for me, but he was a cruel man. Instead of killing me like the others he let me be the only survivor, which was the only thing worse than dying a bloody and painful death.

"Terrified and alone once again, I went back to living on the streets. I tried to feed as little as possible, finding that doing drugs could numb the pain of hunger for a fair amount of time. This was a difficult time for me, and I realized I could never find a place where I belonged. I couldn't trust myself around humans, and I wasn't even good enough to _die_ with other vampires. I was an outcast, a monster. Eventually it all got to be too much, at which point you found me on Southwark Bridge."

"I'm so sorry." he says, "If I'd have known why you were jumping I would've-"

"Let me die?" I interrupt.

"No, god I don't know. I'm just digging myself into a hole right now."

"I'm grateful that you saved me." I assure him.

He takes his hand back and slides a blood sample across the table, "Here, take this."

"What are you doing?" I ask.

"I'm apologizing. You haven't had blood in a while, have you?"

"But this is your homework! I can't eat your homework." I protest, ignoring how much I really do want it.

"I'd rather you eat my homework than have you eat me."

"I'd never eat you, John." I correct.

He pushes the vial closer until I finally give in, quickly gulping it down. When I put the glass down, I notice he's laughing.

"What is it?" I say.

"Nothing." he says between giggles, "Just, 'Sorry professor, my flatmate ate my homework.'"

"Flatmate?"

"Yeah, of course. I'm not going to kick you out now."

"You mean me being...what I am...doesn't scare you?"

"I don't see you as being a vampire, Sherlock. I see you as my friend, who just so happens to drink blood."

There was that word again, _friend_.

"As long as we're telling the truth, John," I begin "I..."

_I think I'm in love with you and want to spend my literally **eternal** life with you. _

No, now's not the right time. What if he doesn't feel the same way? What if I scare him away? What if I don't even really love him? Just...don't.

"My full name is actually William Sherlock Scott Holmes."

"Right, good to know. Anyway, are you alright sleeping on the sofa tonight?" John asks, clearing the table of the vials previously containing blood.

"Yeah, that's fine." I say, omitting to tell him that vampires don't sleep all that much.

After making the sofa suitable for me to sleep on, which really isn't necessary as I'm not in the least bit tired, John calls it a night and retires to his bedroom. I reluctantly lay in the nest of, surprisingly comfortable, blankets and pillows.

_You're a fool! You can't even tell John how you feel about him. What are you going to do when he brings his girlfriend around? Tear her heart out in front of him? Vampires never deal well with jealousy..._

"Shut up!"


	5. Unexpected Murder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I haven't updated in ages!! And honestly I don't have a good excuse (school??). From now on I'll try to stick to somewhat of a schedule, so expect updates on Sunday. 
> 
> Check out my tumblr if you'd like: consulting-crocheter, and as always thank you to everyone who is reading! Your comments have really lifted my spirits these past few days!

By time I roll out of bed John is already preparing breakfast, bacon and eggs it seems.

"Good morning Sherlock." he greets, setting a plate of food on the coffee table in front of me.

I attempt to rub the sleep out of my eyes, "Morning, John."

"Oh, I'm sorry." he suddenly apologizes, "I wasn't sure if you still ate normal food even though you're...a vampire."

"It's fine. I'll eat it." I don't really need to, and every type of food tastes bland compared to blood, but I don't want to offend John.

“So, why are you going to war?” I ask just as John settles into sofa next to me.

“That’s an odd conversation starter.” he comments, “But to answer, med school’s gotten a bit expensive, parents say they won’t be able to pay for it for much longer.” he explains, shovelling a bite of egg into his mouth. “If I want to be a doctor, I’m gonna have to settle for being an army doctor, it’s a bit cheaper."

“And your family’s okay with this? If you go there’s the chance that you’ll die.”

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me.” I feel like I should apologize, but he continues before I have the chance, this time in a quieter, hushed voice, “To be honest, part of why I’m going is to get away from my family. My sister’s a borderline alcoholic, my mum and dad are not in a good place in their relationship. It seems with all the drama going on, I feel like…like even if I did die…”

“There would be no one there to miss you.”

“Yeah.” he sighs, embarrassed to reveal this vulnerable side of his mind.

_But I would miss you, John._

He suddenly puts his plate down with a loud clang. “But enough about me. I’m going to go wash up, then I’m taking you somewhere. So get dressed.”

“Where?” I ask, but he’s already out of the room.

I politely finish my breakfast, and follow his orders. Then decide to put both of our dishes in the kitchen. It’s the least I could do since he didn’t do the logical thing and kick me out the moment he found out what I was.

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that, Sherlock.” John chides gently when he enters the room.

“We’re flatmates, I’ve got to do at least _some_ of the cleaning around here.”

“Well, put it off for a while. We’ve places to be.”

He grabs me by the arm and swiftly leads me out of the flat. II try to ask where it is we are going, but he refuses to say a word all through the taxi ride.

Looking out the window, I find we are headed towards St. Bart’s. This doesn’t clear any of the fog covering John’s mysterious plans. It’s a Saturday, after all, he doesn’t have to be at school until Monday…

We stop outside the doors to the morgue when finally John clues me in, “I know you have a certain diet to keep to, and I’m not judging you for it, but I would also prefer it if you refrained from murdering people. So, I’ve pulled a couple of strings with a friend who works at the morgue and she’s agreed to-”

“Give you dead bodies?” I interrupt, “You want me to eat dead bodies?”

“Well, I think it’s a better alternative to living people.”

I shrug, “I can’t argue with that.”

Just then, the doors swing open and John’s friend stands before us. Given the severity of his plan, I expected to see a strong, burly, military type man who would be able to smuggle dead corpses in and out of the hospital.

But I’m wrong. So _very_ wrong.

The person standing beside us is not a man at all. It’s a kind faced young woman with her hair tied back neatly.

She looks up at me, “Hi, I’m Molly Hooper.” she greets, her voice quivering with excitement.

“Sherlock Holmes.”

“John’s told me about you.” she giggles, trying so hard to make a good impression. She bats her eyes a few times and tries to make an annoying amount of eye contact.

_Is there something wrong with her eyes?_

“John said you two needed to examine a body?” she continues.

“Yes, school assignment.” John lies. “Sherlock here’s a first year and asked me to help him a bit. I did the same assignment last year.”

She leads us on without further questions.

“Here it is.” she says a bit too gleefully for someone pointing at the dead body of an old man. “Died of natural causes three weeks ago. He used to work here actually, I knew him. He was nice.”

I stop her before she goes into further detail about the stiff, and she quickly leaves.

Now it’s just me, John, and the body.

“Well, go on.” John encourages.

“You’re sure it’s alright?”

“We know what happens if you don’t get your fix. I don’t want that to happen again, I nearly thought you were dying.”

Leave it to John to completely ignore the amount of danger he _himself_ was in. “Yes, alright. No need to get all sentimental. But, would you…would you mind turning around while I do this? I’d prefer you not see the monster that I am.”

John reluctantly obeys, his hopes of seeing a real live(ish) vampire at work crushed.

This is by far the easiest feeding I’ve ever had, and not even the worst. Yes, his blood has already separated into blood and water, but it still could’ve been worse. I was used to drinking the blood of drug addicts and alcoholics, both substances muddy the blood and ruin the pure taste. Luckily for me, the stiff was neither.

“What do we do with the body?” I whispered once I finish.

“Oh, just leave it here. Molly will clean it up. That’s more or less her job.”

“How did you meet her anyway? She’s not a medical student.”

“Well she was. She finished last year and has been interning here since then.”

“Oh, I see. So were you two close while she was studying?”

“No, I never dated her if that’s what you’re getting at. We’re just friends. I can tell she fancies you, though.”

“What? No she doesn’t.” I dismiss.

John actually laughs out loud, “Are you completely blind? She all but professed her love to you right on the spot.”

“I hadn’t really noticed.”

“Well, just be nice to her, alright?”

“I’m always nice.”

Two men storm in before John can give me his witty retort. The first man is tall with silvery short hair. The other is incredibly unattractive with longer, quite greasy, black hair.

The pair walk over to a counter and lift the cloth off the body lying on it.

“What do we have here, Anderson?” asks the grey haired one.

“Well it looks like she died of a stab wound to the heart with a thick instrument.” the other, Anderson apparently, replies with a high-pitched voice (which seems to be his regular voice). “Other injuries are two small punctures with burn marks around them on her neck. I’ve done some other tests and it seems she didn’t have anything in her stomach, but she had some sort of poison in her system. I’ve tried running tests on it, but nothing’s matched yet.”

I don’t need to overhear anymore to know what really happened.

_Vampire attack._

“John, we need to get a look at that body.” I whisper.

“Sherlock, you just ate!”

“No, not for that purpose! I think she was attacked by a vampire, or a vampire hunter of some sort.”

“I got you past Molly because she was a friend, but these are professional detectives from Scotland Yard!” he protests.

“Then we’ll just have to improvise.” I spot two lab coats sitting on a chair, "Here, John. Put this on."

"No, Sherlock! Wait!" he urges, but I'm already walking towards the pair of detectives. He reluctantly dons the lab coat and follows me.

"Alright, keep working on that, Anderson." the detective says as he pulls his mobile from his pocket. "This is the third case this week. Seems like we might have a serial killer on our hands. Oi, you two," he calls over to us, "are you interns from the university?"

"Yes, sir." I reply, John nods nervously beside me.

"Right, well if you could just clean up the stiff that'd be great."

John gives me a look that says all too clearly "I can't believe your stupid plan actually worked."

"The art of disguise, John, is know how to hide in plain sight." I explain once the detectives are out of the room.

"Can you just make this quick before we get kicked off the premises?"

"Well, she's clearly a vampire, it wouldn't take a genius to jump to that conclusion."

John scoffs loudly.

"What is it, John?"

"You do realize most people don't believe in vampires. You can't be disappointed by those detectives for not believe in _mythical creatures_ , Sherlock."

I roll my eyes and continue to pore over the stiff. "Cause of death is a classic stake to the heart."

"So we're looking for Buffy then?"

"I'm sorry, who?"

"Buffy. You know, Buffy the Vampire Slayer?"

“No."

“Oh, right then. I should’ve guessed pop culture jokes would go right over your head. With you being immortal and all.”

Well that’s offensive, “I’m not ancient! I’ve only been a live for 20 years.”

“Sorry.”  

“Anyway, the victim.  I highly doubt it was a hunter who killed her.  They usually opt for decapitation, it’s much easier and leaves less room for error.  Also, it’s a much more modern tactic.  Staking someone is archaic almost, which suggests the murderer is of an advanced age, which could only mean-“

“Another vampire?” He pipes in, finally taking the situation seriously.

“Precisely.  You’re really catching on.”

“But why would a vampire kill another vampire?  Aren’t you a rather endangered species?”

“It’s a rare occurrence, but it does sometimes happen, with the occasional conflict between houses. This is different though, typically they hire rouge hunters to do the dirty work.” I lean closer to the body, John follows suit, “This was a rushed job, done by an amateur even.  Look at the stab wounds.”

John closes in and examines the body, “Looks like there are two separate entry wounds in the heart.  One just skimmed the right atrium.  The second was much more calculated, a kill shot to the aorta.”

I roll back the sleeves of my lab coat and begin prodding the wound.

“Hey slow down there, Sherlock!” John yelps, and promptly pulls my hands away from the body.

“We need to look for evidence, John.”

“Okay, fine. Just at least wear gloves.” He passes me a pair, and snaps a pair on himself. “Now, what were you looking for?”

“Some sort of calling card.  If this was an attack on a house, the murderer would want the opposing side to know who did it. Now pass me those tweezers.”

I carefully lift a piece of skin, the stench of the body growing ever pungent.  Through all the dried blood, I can faintly see something sticking out of what appears to be the left pulmonary vein.  I pull it out, and lay it on the table beside us. 

“A feather.” John comments. We both stare down at the oblong black feather, roughly 3 inches in length.  “Do you know anything about birds?”

“Nothing about how to identify them from their feathers.  You?”

“No idea.  But I may know someone who can help.” John begins to take his gloves off.  “Get the blood cleaned off of it, then we can take it to him.” 

I walk over to an empty desk and begin to pick off pieces of dried blood.  I hear the door to the morgue open, but lack the care to notice who enters.

“Any luck, Sherlock?” the intruder says cheerily. 

_What’s her name again?_

“Yes. Thank you, Milly”

“It’s Molly.” She and John correct in unison.

“Oh, right. Sorry.” I apologize, more to John than Molly.

“Is that a feather?” she asks over my shoulder.

“Yes.  We’re trying to determine what kind of bird it came from.”

“May I see?” she takes the feather without my reply.

“Careful, don’t get your fingerprints on it.” John warns, and passes her a pair of gloves.

She puts them on delicately, and examines the feather with care.  “Looks like it’s from the _Pica pica_.  Commonly known as the European Magpie.  It’s one of the primary feathers, if you want to be specific.” She hands the feather back.

“Well that was…helpful.” I stutter in absolute astonishment. But what I mean to say is _How the hell do you know that?_

“Glad I could assist.  I used to go bird watching with my dad.  Magpie feathers are often mixed up with blackbirds’, but you can see the colouring is a bit different.  It’s more indigo when the light hits it a certain way.” She demonstrates her words by shining the light onto the feather in my hands.  “Magpies were always my favourite.”

“The murderer deliberately placed a magpie feather on the victim.” John summarizes from the sidelines, “So he must, in some way, identify or find himself similar to a magpie?”

“Wait, murderer?!” Molly blurts. 

“Precisely.” I assure her, and begin to remove the borrowed lab coat, “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got work to do.”

“Thank’s Molly.” John says, presumably for me, as he too removes his lab coat and walks towards the exit.

“No, John.” I stop him.

“Well, where are you going?”

“Other vampires probably know the significance of the feather.” I explain under my breath, so Molly doesn’t hear.  Given how she took the news about the murderer, I expect talk of vampires would put her over the top.

“So you’re going to a nest then?”

“Yes, and I need you to look for DNA on the feather.  Anything that can lead us to the killer.  Or who turned her.”

“What are you expecting me to find?”

“The venom will be in her blood, so you can use the samples we pulled off the feather.  As for the killer, fingerprints, flakes of skin, blood, anything will do.  We just need to work fast.”

“Why’s that?”

“If this is the beginning of a house war, there will be more deaths.  Many more.”

“Wait!” Molly interrupts as I open the door to leave, “What do you mean murderer?!”

*****

There is only one house I dare to ask for help. The members are not overly kind towards vampires without a house, like me, but they know everything there is to know about the vampire society of London. Finding any vampire under normal circumstances is difficult, finding them during the day is near impossible.  Especially when they are as elusive and secretive as members of House Morstan. 

I have no idea where to start looking, but I know someone who could help me.  Though it requires a visit to one of the most dangerous woman in London: the Clarence House Cannibal.

*****

“Can I help you, sir?” the guard says, with a nearly tangible amount of disdain present in his tone.

“I would- uh- I’d like to see the chef, please?” I quiver.

“I see, you’re one of those lot then.  Please sit there.” He gestures to a few chairs to the side of the visitor’s entrance.

I feel my hands shake, my brow sweat. 

_Oh god, what have I gotten into?_

For some reason, The Cannibal actually enjoys mingling with the monsters of London: Vampires, werewolves, demons.  She does not, however, enjoy speaking with strangers.  In that respect, I am at a loss.  I had only met her once before.

“She’ll see you now.” The guard greets, and points me in the direction of a white doorway. “Right through those doors, and on your left.”

“Thank you.” I say, and walk past him. He suddenly stops me.

“You don’t smoke by any chance do you?”

“I have, but not for a while.”

The guard looks down on me, disappointed, “Well she won’t like that. She prefers fresh lungs.”


	6. Well Kept Secrets

Her consultation room is exquisite, I’d expect nothing less from a member of staff at Clarence House. It is a comfortably cluttered room, complete with a marble fireplace, pastel coloured furniture, and rows of bookshelves. The very picture of elegance. The Cannibal is already there sitting by the fireplace drinking earl grey tea. She is an unassuming young woman with a crisp white apron tied around her waist.

“Good morning, Sherlock Holmes, was it?” she welcomes, and brushes her long blonde hair aside.

“Yes, miss-” I respond politely.

“Please, call me Cassandra. And do sit down, make yourself comfortable.” I follow her orders, and she hands me a cup of tea,

“Isn’t that better. Now, what was it you wanted to speak about? And do make it quick, I have a dish of pieds de porc cooking in the oven.”

“Is it pig?” I ask suspiciously.

“Yes, he was. I’m surprised you need to ask.” she laughs.

I laugh along nervously, “I was hoping you could tell me where I might find any members of the Morstan vampire house. I know you have a…special relationship with the vampires of London.”

“I know where their nest is, if that’s what you were asking. But unfortunately I am not at liberty to release that information, at least not to a vampire of a different house whom I barely know.”

“I’m not looking for trouble, I just have some questions regarding a murder. Please, this is important.”

She puts down her tea, “A murder?”

I sigh, “The body of a vampire was found with a magpie feather stuck in her heart. That sounds like the beginning of a war, don’t you think? I imagine one of the largest vampire houses in London might know something about it.”

“Why don’t you ask a member of House Moriarty? It is, after all, the most powerful.”

“They also have quite a reputation. No one approaches House Moriarty if they value their existence.”

She purses her lips, a strange expression that tells me more than what she is saying, "Now that I think of it, you seem to have an innocent enough reason to go looking for House Morstan. I suppose I may be able to pass along some information. That is, for a price of course.”

I find myself swallowing hard, and then finding her eyes wandering enviously to my throat. I fear what she has in mind. “What kind of exchange were you hoping for?”

She pauses to think for a moment while she takes a sip of tea, “I’m in charge of cooking dinner for an upcoming event and I’m short a few ingredients. I don’t need too much, just your kidneys.”

I nearly drop my tea. “That’s asking quite a lot.”

“It’s not like you need them, you’re a-” she stops mid sentence, and a wicked smile emerges across her pale face. “Oh that’s right, you’re the halfling aren’t you? Balancing between the vampire world and the human world.”

“So you’ll change your offer?”

“Certainly not. You still need information, I still need kidneys. Your…condition does make the bet all the more interesting though.” She sets her tea down, and elegantly strides toward a large chest on the opposite side of the room. From one of the drawers, she pulls out what appears to be a deck of cards.

As she settles back down, she proposes her game to me, “If you can beat me in a game of 5 card draw, I will answer your question about House Morstan. However, if you loose, you’re going to have to find a new set of kidneys. Deal?”

My knowledge of any form of poker was finite. Close to nothing. The likelihood of me winning was slim to nil.

_But the killer. You need to find them and stop them before anyone else dies._

I swallow hard one last time, “Alright, it’s a deal.”

“Excellent.” she smiled, and promptly deals out the cards.

_That’s a terrible hand._

Or at least it looks like a terrible hand, a seven and nine of hearts, a three of clubs, a five of diamonds, and a king of spades can’t get me very far. Cassandra seems pretty pleased with herself. Either because she has a good hand, or because she is delighted that I have such a bad hand, and do a rubbish job of hiding it. My bet’s on the latter.

Cassandra lays two cards face down on the table, “So how is the nearly-undead life?” she remarks.

I follow suit, setting aside my three, five, and King. “Surprisingly okay.”

“Isn’t being human with vampire venom pumping through your veins somewhat of a contradiction?”

“It is difficult, yes. Thankfully I found someone to help.”

“And how long is your lifespan?” She says as she replaces her cards.

I pick up three cards, and attempt to deflect her questions, “Is the lifespan of any vampire very long? What with hunters and house wars.”

The look she gives me while I pick up three cards from the deck tells me, yet again, she knows something I don’t.

_Is it about the game? Or is it about me?_

“That is a fair point. And you certainly won’t be able to live very long without your kidneys.” she sets down her hand, “Full house, love.”

Now it’s my turn to see her squirm, “Straight flush, dear.”

The smirk on her face faded as quickly as it had flickered into existence. “Well, you’re better than I expected.”

“Where can I find House Morstan?”

“I think you’d be much better off looking for Moriarty.” she says as she collects the cards.

I lean back in my chair, “And why is that?”

“Oh, dear,” she laughs, “We agreed only one question. Unless you’d like to rethink the placement of your kidneys.”

“Where can I find House Morstan?” I repeat myself.

“Very well. They live in Leinster Gardens, numbers 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens.”

I rise in the hopes of leaving, “Thank you, Cassandra.”

She extends her delicate hand to shake, “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Holmes. You should visit again, I’d love to have you for dinner.”

I quickly leave before any of my vital organs mysteriously go missing.

*****

The Empty Houses, as 23 and 24 Leinster Gardens was a commonly known location. Empty flats that were gutted years ago to make room for the tube. Now they just look plain, ordinary almost. I always found it strange that the city didn’t do anything with them, but I guess now I know why.

_How do I get in? Is it rude to wake them by knocking? Is it even more offensive to just walk in?_

I tentatively approach the door, and knock quietly.

No answer, so I try again, slightly louder.

Still nothing.

_Breaking and entering it is, then._

Lucky for me I always keep lock picking tools handy, just in case. The lock took me less than three minutes to pick.

Slowly my eyes adjust to the dark room, and I try to tread as lightly as possible. It is silent, with the odd noise from the tube below wafting into the house. A sudden train driving by takes me by surprise, and I trip over a loose pipe on the floor. A loud clatter ensues.

“Shit!” I curse under my breath.

Before I try to get up, a swooping force swipes me off the ground and pushes my face into the nearby stone wall.

“Who are you?” my captor demands.

“Sherlock Holmes.” I mumble with difficulty against the wall.

“And _what_ are you?” she whispers into my ear, fangs piqued and ready to attack.

“Vampire. I’m a vampire.”

She presses me harder to the cold stone, “Nice try, but I can smell the human in you, and feel your heart beating.” She slides her cold hand down my chest, and quickly turns me around to face her, being sure to keep me locked against the wall. Her hand stops over my frantic heart, “But don’t worry, I can soon fix that.” She gives me one last wicked smile, showing off her sharp teeth, then attempts to lay them around my neck.

“Wait!” I plead. She obeys, her incisors inches from my skin. “I can prove I’m not human, please.”

She backs away and stares at me with crystal blue eyes. She loosens her grip, and I move my arms to unbutton my shirt.

“See?” I gesture to my exposed chest, baring the scar from my Master.

Her eyes shrink into skeptical slits as she lets go altogether, still keeping her eyes locked on me. “What do you want here?” she says almost…fearfully?

I take a moment to catch my breath, and observe her, looking for any type of weakness.

_Protective…Romantic…Clever…Shortsighted… **NONE OF THESE WILL HELP!**_

“There was a murder. A vampire was killed, and a magpie feather was left at the crime scene. Do you know anything about that?”

“Yes, I know about that. The victim was one of ours, turned her myself about three weeks ago. No loss there, she was a handful anyway. Always sneaking out to catch her own meal. Must’ve been when she got herself killed.”

“Do you know anything about her killer?”

She suddenly turns her eyes away from me, letting her blonde hair cover her eyes. “Yes.”

I wait for her to elaborate, but she just continues to stare down, “Any idea where I might find them? Or _who_ I’m looking for?”

“He calls himself The Magpie. He’s intelligent, deceptive, opportunistic, brash.” she suddenly turns her face to me, and pins my shoulders to the wall once again, lighter this time. “And a word of advice, Mr. Sherlock Holmes,” she spits out, “do _not_ go looking for him. If you are desperate enough, and foolish enough to go after him, he’ll find you first. He’ll find you, and that you _will_ regret.”

I move her hands off my biceps, “I appreciate the warning, but I think I can handle myself. He’s out there _killing_ other vampires, and I’m determined to stop him.”

She takes hold of me again as I try to leave, “There is a war coming, Sherlock. And you best make sure you’re either on the right side, or stay out of it. If not, you’re comfortable existence between the land of the living and dead will be compromised. And there’s no assurance your precious John will be safe either.”

I turn back to face her, “How do you about him?”

“You’re too modest, Mr. Holmes, we’ve had our eyes on you right from the start. As have many vampires.”

My breath catches in my throat, she’s the second person I’ve met today who seems to know more about me than I do.

_But **why?!**_

It’s frustrating having someone stand before you, who knows all your secrets and tendencies, and you can’t even put a name to their face. Much less know how the hell they know what they know. But then again...

_Should I ask? Does she know? Do I even want to know?_

“Do you…do you know who turned me?” I say, almost whisper, before I know what I’m saying.

_Shit. You’ve really shown how weak and easily bought you truly are._

She looks pitifully down upon me, “Oh Sherlock, sometimes it’s just better to live in ignorance.” 


	7. Dates

I ran from the den. Ran from her, whoever she was. Her cryptic words afforded me no answers. I needed space, I needed to think…

_I needed John._

“Oh good, you’re back, Sherlock.” John says as I walk into the lab just next to the room where I last left him. “So I ran some tests and…” he trails off once he sees my distraught face. “Oh my god what happened to you?”

“What?” I answer, voice cracking from shock, “Umm…”

_No! Now is not the time for your petty sentiments. There is a killer on the loose. So shove away all thoughts of your existential crisis and **FOCUS** for god sakes! _

“Just a bad run in with a vampire clan.” I finish, “But anyway, you were talking about the evidence?”

He leads me to the table where he is set up. “Yes. I scanned the feather for what felt like decades looking for any type of evidence. It was tricky, the killer was very careful, but thankfully he left us a little present.” He pulls up a picture on the computer next to the microscope, “One, rather smudged, thumbprint.”

“Perfect! Excellent work, John. Now we just need to match it.” I take a seat at another computer next to him, “Now if you give me some time, I should be able to hack the Scotland Yard database. I haven’t done it in a while, so I’m a bit out of shape, however-”

“Already done.” John interrupts.

“Are you serious? _You_ got through their firewall?”

“No, I have a friend who has access. Not everything has to be so clever, Sherlock. Anyway, our mysterious bird murderer is a man by the name of Richard Brook.”

“Brilliant! Where can we find him?”

“According to the database, Highgate Cemetery. He’s been dead since 1910.”

“He’s a vampire, John. He’s still out there. Is there a picture, or description? Anything to make the search easier?”

“Only a very poorly taken mugshot. I’m not sure you’ll be able to make anything of it.” he opened another tab and up popped a grainy black and white picture of a man. He was fairly young, and extremely well dressed in a waistcoat and suit jacket.

_His eyebrows though…they are so familiar. But where have I seen them before?_

“Looks like our Mr. Brook was a former Mathematics professor before being arrested.” John reads from the computer screen, “But here’s the odd part, he was accused of accessory to blackmail, robberies, even murder, and went to jail for six months for mail fraud before he somehow managed to get out without serving his full sentence.”

_Good, this is the best lead we have._

“Does it say anything about where he lived?” I ask.

“Not an exact address, it just said his house burned down same year he died.” John answers, “Only a couple of days after, actually. Police didn’t get a chance to look through his estate. They did, however, find the fire to be lit purposefully.”

“Let me guess, unsolved arson case?” I laugh, this is beginning to get fun, “Clearly attempting to destroy all evidence against him, even after his “death”.” John closes the computer window, having read all that could be helpful, “So, what now? Should we investigate the victim?”

“No, she won’t lead us anywhere.” I say as I nudge him aside and open another window on the computer, “We need to dig deeper into Richard Brook’s past. Anything that can get us an address, or habits; places he liked to go.”

“Alright, I’m going to get a cuppa. You want anything?” John grabs his coat and heads toward the exit.

“No thanks.” I answer, still staring at the screen. I look up a moment before he leaves, remembering something I wanted to ask him, “John, how did you convince Molly to get you full access to the database?”

He stops at the threshold, “You’re going on a date with her tonight.”

And he’s gone.

*****

John comes back nearly an hour and a half later, with cheeks redder than cherries. Presumably, he’s run into a group of girls. I think I saw a few sitting in the coffee shop across the street when I returned from the vampire nest.

“Well you took your time.” I drawl as he waltzes back in, no tea in hand.

“Sorry, Sherlock. I ran into some old friends.”

I brush off his blatant lie of a reply, “Well, my research has been quite fruitful. Our Professor Brook published a book on astronomy, _The Dynamics of an Asteroid_. What an incredibly dull topic. Anyway, the editing firm he used is still in business.”

John comes over to the computer to glance over my shoulder, “Fantastic. Can we access their records online?”

“I tried, but it looks like they only keep them on site. Which makes sense, as the company is just barely afloat. Looks like some light investigation there is in order.”

“Well I doubt they’ll just let us walk in and look at their records.” John scoffs.

“Then perhaps some light burglary instead.” John sighs and slouches onto a stool.

“Sherlock-”

“Don’t be so worried. No one is going to catch us. I doubt this place has adequate security systems. And we won’t go till it gets dark, so there is still time. It’s only, what 4 o’clock?”

“Alright fine.” he concedes. “By the way, you should probably get ready for your date with Molly. She’s expecting you at 6.”

*****

“Sherlock, you can’t wear that on a date.” John critiques as I walk out of the bathroom, clad in my jeans and t-shirt. “You can’t expect her to want to go on a second date with you if you’re dressed like a slob.”

“I don’t even want to go on a first date, John.” I retort. “And besides, these are the only clothes I own.”

“Well, there certainly isn’t enough time to go out and buy new clothes.” He ponders.

“I’m not borrowing your clothes again.” I demand before he can suggest it.

“Fine, well then you’re just going to have to go like that. But at least wear this.” he tosses me a simple black jacket with leather patches. I slip it on and am surprised the fit isn’t horrendous.

It still does not change how much I am dreading this evening. I sit on the couch and nervously tend to my violin, placing a generous dosage of rosin on the bow and rubbing it accordingly.

“You nervous?” he asks, I can tell he finds it entertaining.

“Extremely. I’ve never…dated, or even been on a date, with anyone. Is it absolutely necessary I do this.”

“It will be fine, Sherlock. Molly was so excited for tonight, so don’t think that she’s not interested in you.”

_That was definitely **not** what I was worried about. _

John speaks again after my silence, “Look, if it makes you feel better I can call Sarah and make this a double date.”

“John, you don’t have to bother her for me-”

“No it’s fine. We haven’t had a proper date in a while, it’s long overdue.”

John retreats to his bedroom to make the call, and returns a few minutes later to tell me everything’s worked out. I can breathe a little easier now knowing he’ll be there to stop anything that might go wrong. I grace the tips of my teeth with my tongue at the thought of it.

*****

The restaurant, I presume John chose it, is very nice. It’s just a small italian restaurant called Angelo’s. A large man greets the four of us at the door, he seems to own the place- he’s probably Angelo. He leads us to a small booth at the front of the room, lit with a candle to advertise to the rest of the dining room that; yes, this is most definitely a date.

“So Sherlock, John tells me you’re studying medicine.” Molly begins.

“Uh yeah, first year. I just met John recently.” I answer without detail, trying to deflect further questions about why I’m here.

“So that’s why you two are living together. Funny, he refused to move in with me.” Sarah comments, quite sarcastically.

“Sarah, I told you it was because people might assume certain things about us if I moved in.” John explains, attempting to keep his voice down.

“You don’t think moving in with another man is going to change what people will assume?” She persists.

“Please, Sarah, can we not talk about this?” his voice is firm, it’s not a question.

Thankfully Angelo returns to take orders before the conversation can go into further dangerous territory. The conversation for the rest of the night veers into extremely boring subjects: Molly talked about her cat for as long as she possibly could, she clearly loves the thing more than life itself, Sarah and John talked about how they met, and the three of them exchanged stories of past girlfriends and boyfriends. Molly, in particular had a story the others found to be quite entertaining about a guy she dated who worked in IT at the morgue. The only person to pry into my past was Molly, and John assisted in deflecting the questions so I wouldn’t have to lie to her too much.

By time dessert was served they were running out of topics to talk about. That is, until John thought it would be amusing to bring up my skills of deduction.

“Oh please show us, Sherlock!” Molly and Sarah begged in unison. “We’d love to see you do it!”

Finally I conceded, turning to Molly first. “You stand with impeccable posture, and with your heels together and your toes slightly turned out. You’ve probably had dance training in the past, most likely ballet. However, you’re beginning to lose the habit of turning your feet out.”

“Yeah, I was in ballet classes up until the beginning of this year.” she agrees, “That’s incredible, Sherlock.”

I continue, slightly more confident, “Oh, I’m just getting started.”

I scan her quickly, searching for something with a story to tell.

_Perfect, new watch._

“The watch you’re wearing is new, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.” She blushes, and bats her lashes.

_God, I wish she’d stop doing that._

“I can tell you’re not used to wearing one,” I continue, “as you looked at the clock on the wall a few minutes ago to check the time. Here, let me take a look at it.” she willingly offers her wrist as I gather data from the face of the watch, “It’s an expensive watch, designer in fact. It was probably a gift, as you’ve mentioned you celebrated your birthday recently. Not from your family, though, you said they gave you the cat, Tony-”

“Toby.” she corrects.

“Right. Anyway, seems like boyfriend is the best bet then.” I let go of her wrist and continue deducing, “The clock face has small scratches on it; it’s been left in your pocket with keys and coins, so you don’t wear it on your wrist as much as you put it in your pocket. But, it’s not out of dislike for the watch that you put it in your pocket, you very much it which is why you chose to wear it to a formal event: this date. You put it in your pocket for protection, so you don’t lose it as it has a weak clasp that often comes undone. This is supported by the fact that you have checked to make sure the watch is still on your wrist no less than four times this evening.”

“Completely right, on all counts.” Molly compliments, trying to catch my eye with a bright smile, but I’m still focused at the task at hand.

“A bit of advice, it’s a good thing you broke it off with the man who gave it to you.”

“Why’s that?” she asks.

“Because he was gay.”

“How can you possibly tell?” John says this time.

“As I said the watch is designer, it’s Gucci, and just so happens to be notorious for having a malfunctioning clasp. He clearly cared more about the brand of the watch than the quality. More often than not, straight men don’t know designers as well as gay men.”

The table goes silent.

_Oh god look what you’ve done now! You’ve ruined the evening._

“Well, I suppose that explains why he enjoyed Glee more than my past boyfriends.” Molly jokes in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It seems to work, as the three of them burst into laughter. I reluctantly join them.

John takes a sip from his glass of red wine, “What about Sarah?” he offers.

“Sorry?” I question.

“What can you deduce about Sarah?” Sarah wraps her hands around John’s arm in an attempt to be romantic,

“John, I don’t think Sherlock’s going to get that much out of me.”

John brushes her off, “Please, he’s incredible. Continue, Sherlock.”

It’s true, she is slightly harder to read, almost as if she’s trying to hide something.

_Let’s see if I can figure out what._

“You were texting someone earlier during dinner.” I begin, easing into the task, “You tried to hide it from John, quite successfully, but even so he isn’t very observant.”

“Oi!” John protests in a good hearted manner.

“Oh hush, John. You know it’s true.” Molly chides.“Keep going, Sherlock.”

“While reading their text you began to blush. The same way you blush when you talk to John. So going by that, it’s someone whom you feel the same way you feel around John. Past boyfriend perhaps?” She blushes and looks away.

_Good, on the right track then._

“When you were talking earlier about how you and your last boyfriend broke up, your story lacked the same hand movements your other anecdotes did. Most often this indicates lying. Not a past boyfriend, because you haven’t broken up with him, have you?” I finish.

She refuses eye contact with me as I utter the last words of my deduction. I can’t help but smile, for real now.

_Gotcha._

“Sarah, is this true?” John demands, not so jovial anymore.

“John, I swear, I was going to break it off soon.” She defends, “I just needed to make sure it was the right decision.”

John rolls his eyes, “What, are you not happy with me, Sarah?”

“It’s not that, John-”

John’s usually calm voice suddenly escalates into a shout, “Then what the hell is it?”

“Please, John, can we talk about this later. Somewhere not in public.” she chides

He sighs and calls Angelo over to the table, “Cheque please.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tidbits of information about Moriarty are intended to be similar to ACD Moriarty.
> 
> Molly's past boyfriend mentioned in the chapter is supposed to be reminiscent of Jim from IT. Not sure if it was actually Jim, so draw your own conclusions ;)


	8. Scars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the more violent chapters. It's also one of my favourites.

“Well that date was a bust.” John laments from the kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove and preparing two mugs. “I’m sorry I forced you into it.”

I walk up to the counter and begin to help with the tea. Not that he needs it, I just needed a reason to be closer. “No, it’s my fault, John. I didn’t know where my deductions were going, and then it was too late.”

“Actually it’s none of our fault, it’s Sarah’s fault.”

“Well that’s harsh. Do you want me to play you some sappy breakup songs?”

“As if you know any.” John retaliates, not in the mood to take any of my sarcasm. “We’ve not actually broken up. We’re trying to work through it.”

The kettle's singing ensnares his attention before I can convince him otherwise.

_You’re too good for her, John. You can do better._

“So, tonight’s robbery?” he asks as he passes me a mug.

I check my watch, it’s only 10:00. “We still have time.”

“Sounds like I better catch up on homework.” he takes his tea and settles on the couch. Within minutes he’s surrounded by textbooks and paper, thoroughly consumed by his studies.

He’s clearly not moving for a while, I’d might as well take a shower before we leave.

The water takes a minute to warm up, but as soon as it reaches the perfect temperature I can feel it soothing my strained muscles. I let the water run down my shoulders, then caress my back. I needed this, a moment to just slow down. I can feel the damage from sleeping on a stiff couch heal with ever drop of water.

Like a forceful wave it hits me,

_How did I get here?_

Not ‘how did I physically get here’, but how did I manage to escape living on the streets with a drug addiction until ultimately dying at a young age?

_What did I do to deserve it? What did I do to deserve a friend like John?_

It’s the first time I’ve said it. First time I’ve told myself he’s my _friend_. I don’t understand how it happened, but somewhere between vomiting in his bathroom because of a drug overdose, and insulting his friends and nearly causing him to break up with his girlfriend he found it in himself to develop a liking to me.

_And I’ve developed a liking for him, too. Maybe even love him…_

I jerk the tap to cold, trying to drown out those thoughts.

_You can’t love anyone. Not anymore. To date, you’ve killed everyone you’ve begun to love that much, and to kill John would be to kill yourself, as well._

I begin to feel the anger build, exploding from the force of suppressed.

_If it weren’t for this damn curse I could love him. Devote my every waking moment to keeping him safe. But I can’t. I can’t be there to protect him when I’m the one putting him in danger. I never asked for this burden, and I’d trade my soul to get rid of it._

My knees give out from beneath me, and I collapse to the cold floor of the shower.

_But even then, would he love me? Could he? His heart’s been taken by Sarah, even if she won’t devote her whole self to him like I would. Just be his friend, it’s the closest you’ll ever get so just be happy you have that much._

I quickly wash out my hair and finish up in the shower. The bathroom is slightly less steamy after I shut the hot water off, and I can make out the shape of my body in the mirror adjacent to the shower. I wrap the towel around my torso and grab a comb to brush out my hair. As I clear the rest of the steam off the mirror, I see something…odd. On my chest I can see long dark lines radiating from my scar. They follow the path of my veins, one reaching all the way to my right shoulder. Others reaching as far down as my ribcage.

_What the hell?_

I grace my fingers over the darkened veins, before suddenly pulling back. Just the slightest bit of pressure leaves a stinging sensation on the edges of my scar. Not painful though, just enough for nerves to kick in. It feels the same as when whoever turned me dug their fangs into my heart, only much more tame.

Four knocks on the door interrupt my thoughts, “Hey, Sherlock. You almost done in there?”

“Yeah.” I answer. I nearly walk out in just a towel with my chest exposed, but change my mind and slip into jeans and a T-shirt. It would be best if John didn’t see my newly acquired scars. At least, not until I can figure out what caused them.

“We should probably go soon, shouldn’t we?” he asks once I’ve emerged from the bathroom. “It’s just after 11.”

“Ready whenever you are.”

*****

The editor’s office was in an extremely dingy part of London. There was an empty lot to the right of the building, and to the left an old cafe for lease that looked like it hadn’t been visited in at least a year. The street itself was far from quiet, the music from a nightclub just a block away was clearly audible, and in and amongst the shadows and dark corners of the streets it is easy to hear the lowest members of society selling vices to each other. Through the smell of piss and pot I sense just the smallest scent of blood. It’s not surprising that somewhere in this hell hole some poor bloke is getting his head smashed in.

John double checks the address he wrote down earlier today, “Well, this is the place.” he says.

“We should probably try the back entrance.” I suggest. “These people aren’t the creme de la creme of society, but surely they won’t ignore two guys picking the lock of the one occupied building on the street.”

John agrees and the two of us venture around to the back of the building, not surprisingly it’s in as bad a shape as the front. I crouch down and set myself to work on the lock. Seems to be better quality than I expected.

In his idleness, John does his best to make conversation, “So do you do this a lot?”

“Not so much any more. Though I do need to focus, so some silence would be much appreciated. Just make sure no one comes around the corner.”

John watches like a vigilant guard dog. Before long, I’ve gotten through the lock. 3 and a half minutes, not my best.

“Alright, John. It’s clear to go in.” I instruct, and pull a torch out of my hoodie pocket. “Just make it quick, we don’t want the cops dropping in.”

It takes only a few minutes to locate the files, it’s a small firm and a small building after all.

“Here’s his file.” John says, and lays the contents of the brown folder on a nearby table. I angle the light of the torch onto the papers, and we both start reading various documents.

“Looks like he lived in Chelsea.” I read, “Nice place. He must have made quite a living off his book.”

“Do you think he’s still there?” John asks, “I know it burned down, but do you think he rebuilt it when he became a vampire?”

“It’s possible. Looks like that will be our next stop.”

“I don’t believe it!” John exclaims, as he passes the paper he was reading to me, “Look at this. Professor Brook was writing under a pseudonym. And the name he went by? None other than James Moriarty.”

I take a double take at the name. “It all makes sense now! He’s the most powerful vampire in London of course he’d want to defend his throne by killing those who threaten it! Come on, John. We're going to nail that bastard."

We both tidy the papers up and leave the office, making sure to secure the door again.

"So, any plans for when we _do_ find him?" he asks as we walk away from the building.

"He's a killer. I'm not supportive of violence, despite my nature, but Moriarty must be stopped. The only way to stop him is to kill him."

"How do we do that?"

"Well decapitation is the quickest way, but I doubt you have a sword kicking around. I suggest we go for either silver bullets, iron through the heart, or burning."

"I've got a gun back at the flat." I raise an eyebrow at him, "I'm joining the military in six months, Sherlock, I thought I'd get used to having one around. I suppose we could get some silver bullets made for it."

"What make is it?"

"British army browning L9A1."

I halt, a sudden noise down one of the alleys causing the sudden alarm. "Did you hear that?" I whisper.

"What?"

"Shhh." I smell the air, it's thick with the aroma of blood, gunpowder, and inevitably death. "I think someone's just been murdered."

"Well, it's a sketchy part of town. Let's investigate one murder at a time."

"No no no, John. There's something else." I take another go, there's something more... "Acidic. Smells a bit like sulphur, don't you think?"

"I suppose."

I turn the corner and enter the alley. It's a dead end, blocked by the entrance to an old warehouse. The scent is a bit stronger here, and seems to be coming from inside the warehouse. I push open the rusted metal door with ease, and walk into the open space. The light of my torch illuminates some of the details of the large room: What appears to be an old electrical switchboard stands on one side of the room, and on the other side rows of old shelves stretch as far as the torch light can reach. Above us metal walkways are suspended from the ceiling, some look safe, in well enough shape for someone to walk on, but others look a feather's weight from falling over.

John has ventured away from me, and calls from a few feet ahead, "Sherlock, come look at this."

I erase the space between us, and crouch by his side, looking at the puddle of black liquid at our feet.

"Smells a lot like sulphur." He comments.

"I think it might be vampire venom. Looks like we may have found another one of The Magpie's victims."

The room is suddenly flooded with a blinding light. One by one, the rows of lights in the rafters blink into existence, until the whole room is lit up. Once our eyes have adjusted, we both back up to catch a glimpse of the person who turned them on. Instead, we see a man with arms outstretched hanging from one of the suspended walkways directly above the collection of vampire venom. His chest is bare, covered in blood seeping from the blackened cavity in his chest. His eyes, too, have been gouged out leaving blood dripping down his face like tears. His wrists appear to have rope burns that ran deep enough to draw blood. The whole scene looked to have been taken right from a horror story. Worst of all, however, were the hundreds of blood stained feathers, each individually sewn to his arms, forming grotesque humanoid wings.

"He wants to know if you like his design?" a deep voice echoed from above. "He's very proud of it."

"Who wants us to know?" I demand, scanning the room left and right searching for man behind the voice.

"The artist, of course.” he answers nonchalantly, "Or as you so creatively call him, The Magpie."

"Who are you?" John yells.

"I'm just an assistant. He doesn't like getting his hands dirty, you see, whereas I have quite a taste for it. He calls me his ‘tiger’.”

In that moment, he comes out of hiding to stand next to his masterpiece. He is a tall man, with messy blonde hair that looks as if he cut it himself. He has wild eyes that change from hazel to spun gold as he walks through the variations of light. His skin is pale, with a long scar running from his left eye down to his chin. He makes no attempt to hide the glint of a knife in his right hand.

"Just a friendly warning, Sherlock Holmes," he drawls, twirling the blade in his hand, ”back off, or you will burn."

For once, it was not me who got angry and started running headfirst into danger, it was John. He took off and quickly climbed the deteriorated stairs up to the rafters. I followed as the other man took off running as well, his laughter echoing through the empty space.

"We'll corner him." John instructs, "you run along the other side, I'll follow him."

I dodge through fallen ceiling beams and old metal rods. I sincerely hope John is finding an easier way around. Up ahead I can see them, John has nearly caught up to the man. They turn a corner, and suddenly I've lost sight of them again. I don't like not seeing them. I hear a loud crash, followed by the warehouse being filled by a screaming out. A pained scream, and a long scream.

_No, not John!_

I find the quickest way to John, forced to hurtle a few fallen metal rods and jump from walkway to walkway, but I find him. He's leaning against the railing, his knees slowly giving out and refusing to hold him up any longer. He's injured, badly.

"What happened, John? Tell me what happened!" I frantically stammer, holding his face in one hand, and helping steady him with the other.

"That man...he..." he takes a deep breath, then unbuttons his shirt slightly to expose his left shoulder, now decorated with a fresh stab wound.

"Oh my god! I'm sorry, John. We need to get you home." I wrap my hoodie around his wound in a makeshift tourniquet, and swing his good arm over my shoulder to help him to the ground. We manage to find a cab to take us to his flat, only after I agreed to pay extra to cover some of the costs of cleaning the bloodstains off the seats.

By time we make it to the flat, John has nearly passed out. I lay him on his bed, and immediately find the phone.

_Good lord look what you've done! You're best friend was in danger and you did nothing to help! You don't even know how to treat him._

Oh god, who do I call? Molly! Molly will know how to handle this.

I find her contact information in John's cell phone, which took less than a minute to hack into. The phone rings, and rings, and rings...

_Pick up the damn phone!_

"Hi, you've reached Molly Hooper and Toby! We're unavailable right now, but if you leave your name and number, we'll get back as soon as we can! Bye!"

_That's no use, WHO ELSE?!_

Sarah! As much as I don't want to call her, she's the only other person that can help John.

She picks it up on the second ring, "John, I'm so glad you called! I'm so sorry for being such and idiot! I've broken it off with Josh. You are most definitely worth it, John. I'm sorry!"

"Hi Sarah, it's Sherlock." I interrupt. She sounds like a fool with her emotional ranting.

"Sherlock? Well, where's John?"

"He got into a bit of an accident and-"

"What kind of an accident, Sherlock?" she interrogates.

"He got stabbed in the shoulder." she breathes in, preparing to tear a strip off of me. "Before you blame me, which I understand, I should have stopped him, can you _please_ come over here and help me? He's hurt and...and I don't know what to do. Sarah _please_ help him!"

I do a rubbish job of keeping calm, she can tell. "Alright, Sherlock. I promise I'll be over."

*****

We both sit in silencs in the hospital waiting room. John’s only been in surgery for an hour, but it feels like a lifetime. Sarah keeps calm, and I pace the floor.

_How can she be so stoic? John’s suffering in there._

But of course, this isn’t her fault, it’s mine.

_How could I let this happen? I’m his **friend** , dammit. Friends don’t let friends get stabbed by murderers. They were all right; Cassandra, the woman from House Morstan, even the man with the scar down his face. We’re in too deep, this isn’t our fight! At least, not his, and if I have some way to get out of it I should take it. _

After this, stay I’ll away from vampires forever. I don’t belong with them anymore, I belong with John.

“Mr. Watson is doing well,” the nurse greets us, “he’s just in recovery now. The wound wasn’t too deep, so he should be able to go home in a day or so. You’re free to visit him, if you’d like.”

We both follow the nurse to his room. He’s sleeping, he’s so peaceful. Sarah sits on the chair next to the bed, and I stand next to her.

“Do you want to tell me how this happened yet, Sherlock?” she asks. She doesn’t sound angry, per se, but I can still tell she’s livid.

I can’t tell her what really happened, but I hate lying when it has to do with John. “I’m sorry, Sarah.” I begin, “We were getting things from my old flat, it’s not in the best area, and he was attacked. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’m just glad he’s okay now.”

John suddenly moves in his bed, “Shh…Sh”

_What’s he trying to say?_

“He’s awake, oh thank god!” Sarah runs to his bedside, and kneels next to him, “It’s okay, John. I’m here. You’re in the hospital, but everything will be okay.”

John squints in the bright light, “Sh…Sherlock.” he whispers, and outstretches his hand to me.

I inch closer, trying to keep my distance from Sarah. I nearly got her boyfriend killed, and now he’s choosing me over her in the hospital room. I don’t need to be a genius to tell she’s not pleased with me.

“I’m here as well, John.” I answer from above him.

He smiles, but it’s a bit off. Like a drunken smirk. Maybe he’s still a bit loopy from the anesthetics?

“Come closer, Sherl.” he slurs. He’s definitely still high from meds. “Have your eyes always been so…perfect? God, there are galaxies in those baby blues.” he takes my hand, and tries to pull me closer to him.

“John, I think you should probably say hello to your girlfriend, now.” I suggest, brushing away his hand. _I_ haven’t even been this batshit when I was high.

“Oh, Sarah you’re here, too!” thankfully he turns all his attention to her, and I can slink back into the background.

“Sherlock, I think you’d better leave.” Sarah suggests. Although I don’t want to, and know I certainly don’t have to, I quietly concede. One wouldn’t fight a mother bear when she’s protecting her loved ones.

*****

John’s been gone for three days. That’s two days too many. I’ve kept the flat clean and safe, no spontaneous (or not so spontaneous) fires. I’ve kept his assigned homework in a neat pile on the coffee table, and left his room untouched (except for cleaning).

But it will all be over soon. He’s coming home tonight, and then we can begin the first day of our normal lives together. No more investigating murders, no more talk of vampires. The drinking blood aspect of my life would pose an issue, but I’m sure we could figure something out. Drinking from corpses seemed to work alright thus far. The only proof of my past life is my scar, which, granted, has grown worse. The darkened veins now reach my collarbone and down to my right elbow. John will surely notice.

That’s not important right now, though. What’s important is the dinner I’m making him. His favourite meal, I’ve found. Homemade risotto, and garlic bread from Angelo’s. The bread is just heating in the oven, and the risotto is cooling on the table when there is a knock on the door.

_John’s finally back. Odd that he didn’t just open the door, though. Maybe he forgot his key?_

My heart begins to beat faster. I’ve missed him so much. Just these few days without him have hurt me more than being turned did.

_John._

I can almost smell his signature scent, hot tea and the slightest smell of hospitals. A bit stronger now, considering he’s been in the hospital.

_John._

At last we can be together, just the two of us. I open the door, ready to welcome my best friend.

But it’s _not_ him.

Oh god, not _him_. This face that has haunted my head. This face that I’ve only seen hovering above me while he tortured me, and kept me pinned to the ground underneath him.

I back away, trying to run, but he grabs my shoulder with a stiff grasp. "What the hell?!" I exclaim.

“Have you no respect, Sherlock Holmes?” he drawls in his wicked accent. He steps closer, until his face is inches from my own, pushing down on my shoulder with incredible strength for a man of his stature. He pushes until I am forced to my knees. "It is customary, when facing each other for the first time, that you kneel before your master."

"You don't own me!"

"I'm James Moriarty, I can own anything I want.” he laughs, “Including you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The crime scene in this chapter was inspired one of my other favourite shows, NBC's Hannibal. Specifically the episode in season 1 with the murderer who skinned the backs of his victims and made them into angels. Yeah it's as disgusting as it sounds.


	9. The Monster and the Magpie

First was horror,

_You are part of the most dangerous house in London. His venom, his very essence, is in you. It’s running through your veins and corrupting you every second of your life. You’re going to be like him. You already are, from the minute you woke up a damned creature and slaughtered whoever was near, when you nearly killed your one and only friend, the only person you allowed close enough to see who you really were. You’re doomed to become his perfect weapon. Daddy’s little soldier._

Then was anger,

_No, he left me. For two damn years! Nobody owns me, and least of all this bastard! My life was hell because of him, and now I’ve found heaven. Fight him! Fight him, dammit! Fight for heaven, fight for John!_

With that anger came a rush of strength, a rush of the need for revenge. I grab hold of his arm, and before he can react force him to the ground. With him out for a moment, I run. Run to the opposite end of the flat. I make it as far as the couch before he catches up to me. Down I go to the floor, this time he secures my imprisonment by straddling my waist and grabbing my neck to pin me to the ground.

“Well doesn’t this feel familiar.” he teases, “We’ve come full circle since our first meeting, haven’t we?”

“Get off me!” I rasp.

He refuses to reply, and pulls a long syringe out of his suit pocket. He tears the cap off of it with his teeth, and prepares it for injection. He looks at me one last time, and he can see it. The fear in my eyes, and it makes him smile with his satanic grin.

“Quiet now, my dear.” he coos, “I thought you liked this, sticking needles into your skin. Mind you, you’re used to a substance a bit more mild, aren’t you?” He places the needle in my neck, and pushes down releasing the ghastly fluid. It takes effect nearly immediately, and slowly I feel myself lose control of my body.

“Just a minute longer, then you won’t feel a thing.” he slowly loosens his grasp of me. I try to go at him again, this time reaching for his neck, but my arms get a few inches off the ground before they come crashing down again with a thud. He laughs, not even laughs, howls at my pain. It echoes through my head until my last moment of consciousness.

*****

When I come to I find myself in a dining room. It’s not John’s. It’s much more posh, the chair I’m sitting in…no wait _chained to_ seems to be rosewood matching the long dining table set in front of me. The east facing wall is floor to ceiling windows, but gives little help to light the room given that it is still night. Sometime after twelve o’clock, judging by the position of the moon. The only light in the room is provided by a few lighting fixtures on the walls, and a large silver candelabra in the centre of the dining table.

Moriarty wanders out of the shadows, a crystal glass of dark liquid balancing in his hand, “I was wondering how long it would take for you to wake up.”

As he comes closer I resist the bonds around my wrists. He laughs to himself as I struggle. He sits himself on the edge of the table, and slides the glass across the table to me.

It’s blood. Pure blood, too. Not from an alcoholic, drug addict, or dead body like I’m used to. I still refuse to take it.

“What’s wrong?” he questions, “Is it not your type?”

I glare at him, and he smiles back.

“Suit yourself.” he shrugs, “I have to hand it to you though, Sherlock, you were very difficult to catch.” he compliments, “I sent hunters after you, made an agreement with the Clarence House Cannibal to kill you, even sent my best man, Moran, after you and your little pet.” Just the very thought of a human appears to disgust him, “But alas, you’ve somehow escaped all of them. Just goes to show if you want something done right you better do it yourself.”

“What do you want with me?” I growl.

He turns his gaze away from me and looks down at the table. He traces over the grain of the wood as he speaks, “You and I have a bit of a problem, Sherlock, and I want to solve that problem. You see, you’re little game of ‘Let’s Play Detective, John!’ is getting in the way of my game of ‘Ruling the Vampire World of London’.” He turns his gaze back on me, with a villainous spark in his eyes, “You’re making me lose, Sherlock, and I don’t like losing. So why don’t we solve this? You owe it to me to solve our problem.”

“I don’t owe you anything.”

He grins and laughs as he moves closer towards me, “That’s where you’re wrong. Let me tell you a little story. Once upon a time there was a prince named Sherlock. He had a perfect and very happy life, until his parents died and he and his brother were left penniless. They were forced to live in a very bad part of town, very bad, and the Prince didn’t like it at all.” he graces my cheek with the side of his hand, “He was too pretty, too delicate for a place like that.” his face fills with pride as he continues, “Then there was a very powerful King who saw how the Prince was suffering, and thought he would help the Prince. So one night the King found the Prince, and gave him a very special blessing. The blessing took a very long time to complete, and sadly the Prince’s brother interrupted it. The King was forced to abandon his friend, the Prince, despite how much it hurt him. But, the King knew that a piece of him would stay with the Prince forever.” he smiles, but his voice keeps the same dark hardness, “Don’t you see? _I_ saved you from the streets. So, yes Sherlock, you do owe me.”

He suddenly moves so he is sitting directly in front of me with his feet dangling a few feet off the ground. “Do you ever wonder what’s happening to your Mark?” he asks as he rips my T-shirt open until my chest is exposed. He presses a finger to the centre of my heart, and begins to trace the web of darkened veins across my body. It stings, and I cringe at the pain. “These black marks here, that’s my venom filling your veins. It’s burning up all your blood, you see, until there’s none left and you’re a true vampire like me for good. You’ve been strong to survive for this long, stronger than any vampire I know. A…miscalculation such as this would have easily killed an ordinary vampire. But you, you’re not ordinary, are you?” He stops and smiles, his hand sliding up my collarbone to rest at the nape of my neck, “The transformation is going to start very soon, Sherlock, and it’s going to be very slow and very painful. I don’t want to see you suffer like that, so I’m offering, right here and right now, to turn you again. Properly this time so we’re not interrupted.” He pulls my throat closer to his mouth, and whispers, “Just one bite, then off you pop.” His lips are just inches from my throat, his breath dancing across my skin making the hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. “Don’t you get tired of that little pet of yours? I promise I’d never bore you. Together, me and you, we could rule. How does that sound? Will you be loyal to your Master?”

“I’d rather die a weak prisoner, than live as a monster with you!” I jolt forward as much as I can and tear my teeth against his throat.

“You little bitch!” he cries before composing himself again, “You’re little rebellion is too late, you’re already a monster. And you’re my monster! And what a marvellous monster you make! Killing all those poor girls your first night, even killing your own brother! Just remember that _I_ created you, you are what you are because of _me_!” He scorns, “It’s going to happen eventually, and I hope no one you love is caught in the crossfire…again.” he lies.

He calls for a man named Sebastian, and the scar faced killer that put John in the hospital walks into the room. Sebastian pulls me out of the chair and leads me away from the dining room. We descend into the damp and dark, ill-kept basement. He throws me into a small room, and chains me to the small radiator attached to the wall. He closes and locks the door behind him, and I am left to die.

*****

Time passes, and the pain of thirst builds. During this time I live mostly in my head, in the one place where I can still find solace: My mind palace. In these wood panelled hallways I’ve stored my fondest memories; my childhood pet, Redbeard, celebrating Christmas with my family the year I got my first violin. These memories can distract me from my suffering, they are the only things that brings me peace.

But today, whatever day it is, the pain is unbearable. I’ve gone longer than ever without blood. Gone longer than ever without sunlight and fresh air as well. Not even my fondest memories can bring me out of the dark.

So I try something new. I construct a new room, it’s different than the others. It’s not the regal dark wood like the rest of the palace, it’s simple. Just pure white walls and white floors, so as to give no distraction from the contents of the room. Standing in the middle is John. At first he’s not moving, just standing perfectly straight like the soldier he is, but when I open the doors and walk toward him he reaches out to take my hands in his own. He smiles, moving his left hand to rest on my cheek letting the heat of his hand warm my cold skin. His warmth moves through me and replaces the pain.

I could stay here for eternity, but his heat starts to fade and so does he. I scramble to keep the room together, but it decays into the damp basement around.

Only this time I’m not alone. _He_ is crouching in front of me. The light of the hallway behind is enough for me to pick out vague features on his body. He isn’t wearing a shirt, and patches of his skin look different. They look to be darker, stained by something. Stained with a thin but unmistakable layer of blood, but not his own.

“Wakey wakey, my dear.” he sings, “Shall we try this again? Or will I be forced to administer further discipline?”

I try to remove myself from his punishing gaze, but he pins my arms to the stone wall behind me, holding me captive. “Is that a bit of resistance, Sherlock?” he chimes, “You know how I feel about that. Do you want to find out how I punish it?”

He leans closer, and I loll my head forward to prevent his access to my neck.

“What’s the matter, Sherlock? Why no comeback this time? Cat got your tongue?” he taunts. “Oh, you need blood don’t you? And here I am, tragically covered in it. What will we do about that?”

I stare his black eyes, they seem blacker than his demented soul. He grins at me, showing his gleaming teeth.

“Lick it off.” he orders. I stand my ground and refuse, “If you don’t want to _die_ of thirst, then lick it off me.”

It disgusts me. To him I’m no more than a toy, a pet he can torture and shame until he’s satisfied.

But the pain. It’s become worse than a throat filled with sandpaper. It’s engulfed every part of my body, filling every bone in my body with a feeling worse than a blade slicing through flesh. It was only getting worse, and before long a bullet to the side of my head would be a welcome relief.

Many times I had considered death, but the thought of John kept me alive. If I could somehow, someday, escape this hell and return to him then all would be forgotten. We could move away, and be together, just the two of us. I was determined to stay alive, for John. Always for John.

And so, I swallowed my pride and laid my tongue on his shoulder.

“Good boy.” Moriarty sighed, “Next is my turn to drink your blood.”

The blood covering him was already partially dried, and tainted with the taste of sweat and gunpowder. It took all the power I had not to gag.

I wanted to kill him. I wanted to sink my teeth into his throat and tear it out, cover the pristine floors of his dining room in his blood and laugh back at him as he suffered. But I wouldn’t. Even that would be too kind. He deserved a painful death, and a shameful death. Something to tear him off of the thrown he placed himself on.

One day he would die, and his death would be on my hands. That was one thing I was sure of.


	10. The Woman

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I totally forgot to update last week (can I blame it on midterm exams?). I'm very sorry, but as compensation I'll post two chapters today.

A quiet scratching noise brings my attention to the door of my cell. My body tenses and cowers away from the sound, as has become my habit every time he pays me a visit. He's already come once today, I fear what more he would do with me if he came a second time.

Only…it’s _not_ him this time. It’s a woman. A familiar woman at that.

“Irene Adler?” I hoarsely whisper.

“I’m surprised you remember me, Sherlock Holmes.” She says as she kneels next to me and passes me a cup of blood, “Here. I thought you might need it.”

“Why should I trust you?” I demand.

“Because you and I have a common enemy, and the enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

“I don’t have friends.” I retort.

“I’ll be sure to tell John that.”

Her words strike me, and I can tell it shows on my face.

_How long has it been since I’ve seen him? Has he been looking for me? Will he just count his losses and move on? Is he safe?_

She shifts and sits next to me, “I’m sorry I brought him up. Please, will you just drink this?” she again tries to give me the glass. This time I gingerly take it out of her hands. At least now I won’t have to take what Moriarty offers me, though I’m sure I’ll receive punishment for it.

“Why do you think Moriarty is your enemy?” I ask. “I thought you two were…mates.”

“We are, or at least we were.” she explains, and begins her story. “Jim is the one that turned me a very long time ago. I was training to be an opera singer when he found me. Somehow I fell in love with him, and I thought he loved me too. When I found out he was…what he was it didn’t matter, it didn’t change the way I felt about him. It made me love him even more, I think, knowing there was so much danger surrounding him. So, I let him change me.” her expression hardens as she continues, “Then, I found out how much danger surrounded him, I found out all the terrible things he had done. He’s killed so many people, vampires, other monsters. Not directly of course, but they’ve died because of him.”

“Isn’t killing monsters a good thing?” I scoff, “There are less on the streets to hurt civilians.”

“Killing a living creature is never a good thing.”

“You’re the one to talk.”

“And are you any different?” she remarks, tipping her head to the side. “We kill out of necessity, Sherlock, it’s in our nature. But him? He does it because he enjoys it.”

“So if he was so dangerous, why did you stay?” I ask.

“I saw what he did to people he barely knew, I didn’t want to know what he’d do to me. And besides, He had never acted violently towards me, so I kept quiet. I thought, as long as he still loves me, everything will be fine.” she pauses for a moment, blinking back tears and hoping her voice won’t crack, “But then he found Sebastian.”

“Sebastian Moran? I thought he was just Moriarty’s assistant?”

“They like to pretend they’ve kept it a secret. Everyone knows though, I mean, it’s obvious! Sebastian is the only vampire Jim allows to stay in the house, besides me. Though I think I might be the next to go. Jim has no purpose for me now that he’s started shagging Sebastian!” she shouts. Again she tries to hide her tears, but it’s difficult when your cheeks are already sodden. “They don’t even have any respect for me! They do it in our bed, I can smell that disgusting bastard woven into the sheets every night!”

It saddens me. It truly saddens me to see her so distraught, so abused by the man she loved. “I’m sorry.” I whisper. I try to wipe away the tears from her cheek, attempting to console her.

She quickly composes herself, “Don’t be sorry. I don’t need him anymore. He’s not the only one who can find another mate.” she turns her mischievous grin to me, “Do you remember that night?”

“Vaguely.” I reply, “I remember the pain, and the hotel room.”

“You know, that wasn’t all an act. I enjoyed it, kissing you, running my fingers through your hair If I had it my way, I would have turned you myself. In fact, I think I might.” She leans closer to me. Oddly, I don’t feel the need to recede from her advances. “Let’s pick up where we left off.” she whispers, “Let’s have dinner.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Good, neither am I.”

_What the hell is she trying to say?_

“Why would I want to have dinner if I wasn’t hungry?” I ask.

She advances further, “Because Jim could easily kill you at any time. Any moment you spend here could be your last, so why not live a little? I’m sure John won’t mind.”

“Why would John mind?” I stammer.

She stares into my eyes, and her expression changes. The glint in her eyes fade, and she backs away slightly. “I see.” she says, “I should probably leave. It would mean disaster for both of us if Jim found us here.”

She rises and glides to the door, stopping before she leaves, “Thank you, Sherlock Holmes, for everything.”

She never comes back. I don’t know whether it is by choice of force, but screams of terror piercing through the house one night persuade me to favour the former.

*****

“Get up.” a gruff voice demands. I look up at the man in front of me; dark eyes, messy blonde hair, and an unmistakable scar. Of course it would be Sebastian Moran. “Get up!” he says again.

I stumble to my feet as he tosses me a clean shirt and trousers.

“Put them on.” he orders, “Master wants you to look presentable tonight.”

The crisp white fabric of the dress shirt is almost a foreign feeling. I have no idea how long I’ve been held captive, but something tells me it will end soon. It’s not exactly a welcome feeling. But what choice do I have anymore? I was a damned soul, and now my life is catching up to me. This is the end. Death is easy to come to terms with, but my biggest regret was never saying goodbye to John. Never telling him how I truly felt. How just the mere thought of him could bring a sort of calmness to my mind, clear away the haze and all the pain to reveal what he saw me as: an amazing man, with an extraordinary mind, despite all the things I have done.

His words still ring through my head almost regularly. It still baffles me to think that he always saw the best in me, no matter what.

And I’ll never get the opportunity to thank him.

So with a heavy heart, I follow my captor to my death. Like a sheep to slaughter.


	11. Lost Cause

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for some pretty gory bits.

What does one usually do while being led to their death? Do they pray to some higher power? Repent their wrongdoings and hope to make it on Saint Peter’s list?

_That doesn’t leave much for me to hope for. I’m a lost cause, I can’t be saved in this life or the next._

So instead, I pray for John; that he can forgive me for all the hurt that I caused him, that he’ll be protected once he’s gone to war, and most importantly that he remembers me fondly, and not as a monster to haunt his dreams.

_How I wish I could say this to him! Just to see him one more time before I go. If his face could be the last thing I saw, I would welcome death with open arms._

At last we enter the room, and here I learn to be careful what I wish for. Standing in the centre of the large, rather empty, dining room is John. Sebastian leads me to him, and leaves us alone.

I fight the urge to throw my arms around him; take in his scent, his touch, the feeling of his heartbeat. The look in his eyes stop me. I’ve never seen him scared, but there is unmistakable fear behind those blue eyes. It hurts me more than anything, to see his usual stoic demeanour crumble into fear.

“Why are you here?” I inquire, trying to keep my voice even.

He chooses his words with care, “I was told where you were, and I came here to bring you home. You’ve been gone two months, Sherlock. I began to worry.” He pulls me closer and wraps his arms around me, tightly. I can feel his body trembling, like sparks of electricity running through him.

“Has Moriarty done anything to you?” I demand.

He shakes his head. It’s the most comforting thing to happen in a while. However, John suddenly pulls away.

“So sorry to interrupt this heart to heart, boys!” Moriarty bellows as he storms into the room, Sebastian following close behind him with a large wooden box, “Although,” he continues, his voice slightly softer, “Only one of you has a heart that will be beating much longer. Do you want to know who?”

He stands not four feet away from us, and smiles as he continues to boast, “In case you’re wondering, Sherlock, it was Irene who brought your little pet to me. He had the audacity to break in during the middle of the night. Irene was hoping he’d save you, the damsel in distress. I wasn’t happy at first, but I made sure she paid for it dearly. She always had eyes for you. Perhaps if you loved her back, she’d still be alive.” He looks me up and down, gracing his lips with his tongue, “But of course, you always wanted John.”

John opens his mouth to speak, but is silenced when Moriarty orders Sebastian to give John the contents of the box he was holding. Inside is an ornate silver sword.

“Take it.” Sebastian commands. John’s body tenses, his eyes search Sebastian for the primary place to fatally injure him. “Take the damn blade.” he repeats. This time John hesitantly obeys.

Moriarty seats himself in what looks like a throne, or at least a heavily decorative chair, placed at the head of the room. “I’ve always loved to be dramatic.” he beams, “It is a weakness of mine. Although, to be fair to myself, it is my only weakness.” he laughs, “John, I want you to stab Sherlock in the heart.”

“And if I refuse?” John says through gritted teeth.

“Don’t be so boring!” Moriarty over exaggeratedly rolls his eyes, “If you don’t do as you’re told, I’ll make you into shoes. Now kneel, Sherlock.” he orders.

I descend to my knees. John still refuses to lift the blade. I struggle to make eye contact, “I’m sorry, John.” I whisper, “I’m sorry you have to do this.”

“I won’t do it, Sherlock.” he says, lips quivering at the thought of it.

I take the blade in my hands, and place the tip over my heart. Already the metal singes my skin, silver is one of the few metals that can kill a vampire. “We don’t have a choice anymore.” I say, “I never wanted this to happen, please forgive me for brining this burden onto you.”

“I don’t blame you, not for anything that happened. I couldn’t.”

“My patience is wearing thin, lover boys.” Moriarty drawls from his spectator’s seat, “Either you kill him now, John, or he watches as I destroy the only thing in his life that’s worth living for.”

“Please, John.” I plead, “I don’t want him to hurt you.” I take his hands in my own, pulling the blade deeper into my skin. It hasn’t yet punctured my skin, but the burn of the silver causes me to cringe. “Please, just make it quick.”

I can see tears well up in his eyes, feel his hands shake a little more, “There has to be some other way. There’s always another way.”

“Not this time. I was reborn a vampire only to die again.” I let my hands fall away from his and rest at my sides, “My soul has been damned to suffering since the moment I was bitten. I’ve been running from death and judgement for too long, and it seems the gods, or whatever higher power is looking down on us, have sealed my fate.”

I see his face harden, his muscles lock, and his grip around the blade stiffen. “What’s a god to a nonbeliever.” he states as he lunges for Moriarty.

Sebastian catches him before he can make it to Moriarty’s throat. The two of them topple to the the ground, the sword flying from John’s grip and falling to the ground with a loud clang. I spring into action, tackling Sebastian from behind and letting John get away. Sebastian moves back and slams me into the nearest wall. While I’m down, he turns and throws a strong right hook that hits me square in the jaw. I retaliate by hitting him square in the forehead with my own skull, and he stumbles back.

A sudden force throws me to the ground. As the fog clears from my head I’m met with obsidian eyes.

“Don’t you _dare_ lay a finger on _my_ tiger!” Moriarty hisses.

I struggle under the weight of his body on top of me.

“Shhh, don’t struggle.” he hushes, “It will only hurt more if you fight it.”

A sudden pain from my wrist shoots through my body. The only way I can react is to scream. It burns, burns with the force of the sun condensed and injected under my skin. I feel it moving through me as it slowly destroys every last bit of human left in me. Judging by the amount of venom already in me, and how much has just been added to my veins, I have little over a minute until the transformation is complete, unless I can stop it somehow.

There is only one good thing to come from this, and that is newfound rage and strength. Only how to use it?

_Maybe Moriarty is right. Don’t fight it, let him have you, then attack._

So I ease under his hold, let him come closer, let him believe I’m his.

“See how easy it could have been?” he whispers, “All that struggle for nothing, because you’re mine now. It was always meant to be this way.” He leans forward, placing his teeth on my collarbone to leave his mark again to reestablish his ownership over me.

And that’s when I make my move.

I quickly lurch forward and dig my teeth around his throat, pushing down hard to make gash. I pull away, and he straightens up until he’s on his knees clutching at his throat. I get up off the floor and forcefully kick him back down to the floor. It’s easier to get at his throat that way.

With both hands around his neck, I sink my fingers into the gashes I had made. The mix of blood and venom stains my hands, and I can feel his quick breaths between my fingers.

“I was never meant to be like this.” I exclaim. “You wanted a soldier? Now you’ve got one. And I bet right about now you wish you taught him mercy. But father dear, Master, I’m only doing what you taught me.”

“No.” he attempts to speak, “You’re exactly what I wanted.” he tries to laugh, but all that comes out are mangled guttural noises. What he still manages to do is smile, smile that terrible devilish grin made worse now that his teeth are covered in the mixture of blood and venom that is dripping from his mouth.

With a swift movement I rip bone from flesh. His head falls to the ground and lays at my feet.

I fall to my knees, staring at what’s left of him. His head still bears his devilish smile. Not even the signature glint in his eyes fade. It’s all just stuck there, like a statue.

Across the room I can see John still fighting with Sebastian, winning it looks like. I hope he does it faster than I did.

With the adrenaline fading fast, the pain returns to my wrist.

_Concentrate! Just stop the venom from spreading long enough to explain yourself to John. You owe him that much for bringing him into this mess._

I look around for something to stop the venom. Nothing.

_Impromptu tourniquet it is, then._

I use my teeth to rip my shirt sleeve free, and then messily tie it around the crook of my arm. It seems to work, for now at least.

John looms above me, and drops the sword to the ground. He wipes a dark substance from his face, the same fluid that is spattered across his clothing. “Is Moriarty dead?” he pants.

I stay still, body numb from all that has happened. “Yes. He’s dead.”

He looks down at me, and at the head next to me. He gags slightly, but pulls himself together once again. “Did you do that, Sherlock?”

I nod.

“I had no idea you could…that you were-”

“ _This_ much of a monster?” I interrupt.

“You had to do it, Sherlock. He was going to kill you.” He sits next to me, and allows me to lean against him. “I’m just glad we survived.”

“Don’t count your blessings yet.” I wheeze, and extend my arm to reveal my bitten wrist. His doctor instincts kick in, and he immediately tries to asses the wound. “It’s already started, John. I’ve managed to stop the venom from spreading,” I pause to catch my breath, “but I’m afraid our time together is running out.” I pull my head off his shoulder and look into his eyes, his beautiful searching eyes. “I’d rather die than live as a monster. Just look at what I’ve done! If you leave now you can save yourself the pain of witnessing my death. But, John, as this is the last time we’re likely to speak I want to tell you the truth. The few months I’ve spent with you have healed every wound I’ve had to endure through my short life. I don’t want to leave you, ever, but I can find some comfort in knowing I’ll be remembered fondly when I’m gone.” my chest collapses slightly as my energy drains from fighting the pain. John steadies me with his hand.

“If we just find a way to extract the venom, everything will be fine.” he reassures me.

I shake my head making the beads of sweat from by brow fall off my body, and I tear my shirt to expose the web of black across my body. He gasps slightly as his eyes follow the lines across my chest, “Moriarty’s venom has been turning me slowly for two years. Even if we take it out of my arm, I’ll turn anyway.”

“Sherlock,” he says, “Why can’t you just let it happen? I’ve lived with you as a vampire up until this point. I promise, nothing will change now that we know whose venom is in you.”

“No, you don’t understand.” I plead, “My thirst for blood will be so strong, I can’t guarantee you’ll be safe. I don’t want to live as a monster anymore."

“I trust you, Sherlock. I know you wouldn’t do anything to hurt me.” He places his hands around my neck to reassure his commitment to me.

I look to him, and we lock eyes. It pains me to tell him, but I have to. “I killed my own brother the night Moriarty found me. I don’t want to think about what I’d do to you.” his hands loosen, he’s losing trust in me. I can feel it. “I’m sorry, John.”

He lets go of me completely, “Is what Moriarty said true? Do you consider me the only thing in your life worth living for?”

“Of course. I’d spend eternity with you if I was given the opportunity.”

He rolls up his sleeve and offers me his wrist, “Then eternity starts now.”

I move away from his exposed skin, “John, your life would change forever. You have a future without me, you have a family. Why would you want to throw that away?”

“If it means I could spend the rest of my life with you, I would do anything.” He moves closer, cupping my cheeks in his hands, and placing his forehead to mine. “I don’t know how to say this, but Sherlock, ever since you woke up in my house that first night I’ve felt a connection to you. It’s like we were meant to meet.” he exhales, his sweet breath flits by my nose.

“Are you saying…” I trail off, distracted by the longing in his eyes.

“I love you.” he confesses.


	12. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a christmas miracle! I'm finally updating!
> 
> Serious talk, I'm sorry I've been MIA for a long time. I haven't forgotten about it!
> 
> Here is the final chapter, which I hope wraps up any loose threads in the story. Thank you for all the kind comments! It really means a lot to me!
> 
> Happy Holidays!!

I wake up, like countless nights before, in John’s bed. Like the first time, nearly four months ago, he’s not there. His absents alarms me for a moment, but I can feel his pillow is still warm. He was here mere moments ago.

_Not again._

I haul myself out of the bed, throw on the nearest pair of jeans and a shirt, and set out into the night. He’s done this nearly every week, always going to the same place: Southwark Bridge.

The wind blows against my back as I near the edge of the bridge where he stands. “John, are you alright?” I ask. He lets me put my arms around him from behind in an attempt to protect him from the cold wind. 

“I’m fine.” he says, rubbing the sides of my hands with his thumbs, “I just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get used to the feeling of a stopped heart. Don’t get me wrong, I’m fine with it, it’s just…odd.”

“It takes a while, but it will come.” I lay a kiss on his temple, he smiles just slightly.

“Do you know why I keep coming here?” he inquires after a beat of comfortable silence.

“I assume it’s because it’s the place we met. Thanks for that, by the way.”

He laughs to himself, “That’s partly right. But what really brings me here is just thinking of what could have been. What could have happened to you if I didn’t step in.” he turns around to face me, and pulls a small slip of paper out of his jacket pocket. “Do you know what this is?”

I take the paper, try to read the smudged, messy writing. “It’s my note.”

He nods, “I read it over practically every day while you were…taken captive. Every day when I came back from Scotland Yard discouraged because they had no leads on where you were, every night I went out into the streets looking for you myself. This small piece of paper gave me hope that I’d bring you home again.”He sighs and takes my hands in his own, “Every day I’m thankful I stopped you from jumping. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met the man I’ve chosen to love. And who I get to spend the rest of my very long life with.”

He leans in closer to kiss me. I’ll never tire of the feeling of his lips against mine, his tongue intertwined with mine, and especially his body so close to mine.

“I can’t wait to spend it with you.” I whisper, “Now shall we go home?”

“Sure.” Hand in hand we walk back to his, wait our flat. I’ve come so far since the first time we both came to this bridge, I’ve conquered so much. And I am blessed to spend the rest of my life with the man who saved me, twice.

“So what was all this talk of vampire wars about anyway?” John asks.

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know.” I confess, “It could very well just have been Moriarty being an ovedramatic psychopath. God knows he was one.” I shiver from the thought of him, “I mean, just look at the way he treated his clan; demanding to be called ‘Master’, making everyone kneel in his presence. I’m sure there are a plethora of other vampires out there who would thank us for killing him.”

John cringes beside me, “You’re not going to get all power mad, are you? Because, you are technically my Master. And I can tell you right now, I won’t be kneeling in front of you. At least, not for the purposes Moriarty had people kneel for him.”

“Down boy.” I joke.

He smiles at me, a mischievous smile that I’ve seen him wear only a handful of times. “I’m not the one who’s going down tonight.”

By time we get back to the flat, it’s too early in the morning to go back to bed. John has made his intentions for the early morning very clear. Needless to say, I’m eager to make it back to the flat.

However, plans are cut short. There is a familiar face sitting at the kitchen table. Not a welcome face, only a familiar one.

Short blonde hair, and blue eyes. The vampire who nearly killed me when I paid a visit to the Morstan nest.

“How the hell did you get here?” I demand, slamming the door behind us as we enter.

“Oh Sherlock, you act as if you’re the only person who knows how to pick a lock.” she drawls back.

John alternates between giving me and her confused glances, “Sherlock, who is this?”

For once I am caught off guard. I never actually asked her name.

She rises from her seat at the table and extends her hand to John, “Mary Morstan, pleasure to meet you, John.”

“Likewise.” he greets, “Now what are you doing in our flat?”

“House hunting.” She says with nearly tangible sarcasm, “What do you think I’m doing, looking for you two.”

Her hand lingers with John’s for too long. “What do you want with us?” I interrupt.

“You took down Moriarty and therefore his entire clan, I want to know what you plan to do next?”

“John and I plan on living a quiet life, and forget about the absolute nightmare we lived in for four months. Needless to say, we won’t be spending much time with the likes of you.” I walk back to the door and hold it open for her, hoping that she’ll take the hint and leave.

She gives me a dead eyed stare instead. “It won’t be that easy, Sherlock. Now that Moriarty’s gone all eyes are on you to lead the war.”

“Oh god not this again.” John pipes in. “Why does everyone keep talking about this elusive war?”

“And why do I have to lead it, apparently?” I add, reluctantly shutting the door and walking back to the table.

“You killed the king, so now you inherit the crown. And I hope for your sake it fits, and you won’t crack under the pressure.” she smirks.

“I still don’t understand why you’re telling us this.” John asks, slightly more irritated by her aversion to answering our questions. “Isn’t the war between your house and Moriarty’s?”

She stares at us with a dumbfounded expression, “You two still don’t get it do you? Moriarty wasn’t building up an army to fight my house. He was starting a war against the humans. Now are you ready or not?”

John and I are taken aback.

_What does she mean against the humans? Humans don’t even know vampires exist._

John is the first to voice his confusion, “What do you mean it’s against the humans?”

“I mean Moriarty had plans to fight back against the few humans who know about our existence. The ones who are doing everything in their power to detain and experiment on, as you would say, Sherlock, the likes of us.” She explains.

“If this was all his plan,” I begin, “what role do either of us play in it? You didn’t seem overly involved last time we spoke.”

“It didn’t affect me then, but things have changed.” She takes a seat again and continues to explain to us, “Moriarty’s plans, like many of his ideas, involved violence and nothing short of genocide. He proposed his clan and mine form an alliance, for the time being, and eradicate the humans. I declined, of course, and he got angry and killed one of my girls. After that, I suppose he went out to look for you to help him.”

“You don’t seem prone to unnecessary violence, Mary,” John observes, “so why join now? What made you so interested in this war?”

She looks down at her hands, fiddling with a ring on her right hand, “They stole them. They took my entire clan away from me.” She returns her gaze to us, fighting back tears, “I know you don’t understand, but that was my family. I loved them like my own children. And they were taken away from me in the dead of night.”

John looks at me with a pleading expression, and I know just what he’s pleading for. But I can’t bring myself to agree to help. His experience with the monsters that we are is much different than mine. He doesn’t understand. She may look like a weeping mother before us, but underneath could be a monster sent from hell. He can’t see that we can’t trust her in this moment, not until we know who she is, what her motives are.

I can’t bring myself to help her, but moreover I can’t bring myself to see John eye to eye.

“Mary,” I say with as soft a voice as I can manage, “please leave our flat now, or I will get the police involved.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I was going to end it with the last chapter and let you formulate your own ideas of what the boys do in their new vampire life, but after re-reading it there were some points I wanted to clear up. 
> 
> Furthermore, I got some new ideas I want to use. 
> 
> I really like writing this AU, and I'd really like to continue, so I've decided I will (at some point) write a sequel! It will hopefully deal more with John and Sherlock's relationship, and how they will inevitably disagree on some things. 
> 
> But more on that later, for now have a happy holiday and a great new year!

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first time doing a semi-long fic, hopefully I'll be able to keep a constant update schedule. As always, comments and critiques are welcome! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it!


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